


Distortions In Time: The Untold Tales

by scarecrowslady



Series: Distortions In Time 'Verse [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Culture Shock, Gen, Side Stories, family life, other topics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowslady/pseuds/scarecrowslady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the untold tales of of "Distortions In Time" - a journey to other worlds and places and scenes not yet shown in the epic tale of Loki. Jotun!Loki AU. Set pre-/during-/after Thor/Avengers Assemble. MCU-verse only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Side Story One: Lessons From Stone

**Author's Note:**

> These are the untold tales of my epic tale (as yet unfinished), Distortions In Time. To understand these stories in FULL, you may want to start there. Still, they may be enjoyable as standalones and I hope you like them. As thanks for reviewing, this story was sent to reviewers who reviewed chapter 20 and onward of my fic. Chapter 40 and onward will get a second piece I'm working on at present. If you wish to be one of the number who gets the side story ahead of time, review on Distortions In Time~
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers. Marvel owns it. I do not get paid for this piece of work. Sadly, but understandably. LOL.
> 
> [IMPORTANT!]
> 
> Author's Note: This tale fits in around the time that Loki was known as the Vaetki and was living in the Gothahus as a very young child. I really wanted to write this story to show the humanity (as it were) of the Jotunn and how their mode of life is as sociable and civilized (in a sense) as ours is... if sometimes cruel and harsh. Glossary for words are on the bottom.
> 
> Note on Jotunn culture: Sires are the "mothers" of the Jotunn. Inheritance and the like are passed from "mother" to child. I use the term "mother" loosely because that is the Jotunn who actually births the baby. The Jotunn are, in fact, neither male nor female in my story. XD
> 
> Characters: Byleistr, Helblindi, Laufey, Farbauti

**Distortions In Time: The Untold Tales**

****

**Side Story One:**  
Lessons From Stone

**[...the skies of Jotunheim are empty...]**

**[...but this morning is stirred...]**

**[...can you hear it?...]**

"'Blindi!"

A pause. An indistinguishable sound – somewhere between a moan and a grunt of protest. Scuffling. Then, another tug. Another shove.

"'Blindi! 'Blindi! It is time!"

Helblindi, Crown Prince of Jotunheim, First Son of Farbauti Orkalsson, groaned as he turned in his bed of snow and found a softer spot, pulling his thick fur blanket up over his head.

"'Blindi!" The light voice was exasperated now. "Wake up! WAKE UP!"

Without warning, his blanket was torn away and hands, colder than usual, uncomfortably laid hold of his feet. Growling, the young Jotunn sat up and kicked away at his would-be attacker, striking blindly – before realizing that it was in fact a rather hurt looking Byleistr, who had fallen back and was now nursing an arm and trying to suppress tears. Helblindi sighed.

"Bylla," he rolled his eyes. "What did I tell you about waking me up – you need to be smarter than just grabbing me by the feet!"  
"The last time I shook you awake by your shoulders, you hit me in the face – with your fist!" The younger Jotunn protested, giving Helblindi a wounded look. "And you have fists like rocks! Everyone says so. I know so!"  
"Sorry," Helblindi grumbled petulantly. "I can not help being strong."  
"You always say that..."  
"Because it is reality. I will always be older. I will always be smarter and stronger."  
"Fylgja says you should know better," pouted Byleistr.

The older brother threw his fur blanket aside. It had been sewn by Farbauti himself – the first fur blanket for his first child – a grey and black monstrosity, Fylgja had called it – the finest wolf-hide sewn with the worst stitches. Farbauti had blushed deep purple-blue then and shook his head in embarrassment.

"As if your sewing skills were any better!" he had chuckled.  
"Faetha sewed a blanket too?" Byleistr had asked with his usual curiosity. "For whom?"  
"No one," Laufey had said quickly. "No one. Come, eat your fish."

Helblindi knew better than to pursue the subject. His Faetha's voice had been warning enough – and considering the War and everything, it would be no surprise if accidents such as an early miscarriage happened. Such was the hard life allotted to the Jotunn race. So he said nothing and ate his fish and forgot.

Now, he looked at the blanket and remembered. Remembered the day he first saw Byleistr wrapped in the finest cloth Jotunheim could offer for its second Prince – and saw the blanket in the chest which would eventually be given to his brother – white and grey and with better stitching. Byleistr still slept beneath it every night – and his bed was still a carefully carved jarnvithr cot – for his skin had not yet begun to toughen, nor was there any sign of molting to be seen on his head which still held the usual dark curls passed down from Laufey. Helbindi's hair had been smooth and straight at first, like Farbauti's, but now it was shorn close to his head in preparation for molting. Molting and Budding and eventually becoming a full-fledged adult. Like all Jotunn younglings, the Crown Prince looked forward to the day with excitement... and trepidation. _Soon, I will put my blanket away, or give it to one in need, he thought, but not today._

_Not today._

_Today_ , Helblindi recalled, _is the day I had promised to take Byleistr hunting._ A few youths at the Court had been laughing at the young Prince about the fact that he had not yet shown any interest in pursuing the more physical activities demanded of growing Jotunn younglings. While Helblindi privately agreed that his younger brother was as annoying as a jarnvithr splinter in his foot – and at the best of time was an aggravating know-it-all – disrespecting the King's son could not be tolerated. After the boys had learned their lesson thanks to Helblindi's hard fists, the older brother had taken his younger sibling aside and talked to him.

"Things will go better with you if you make at least an attempt."  
"But – but – whenever I wish to join you, you tell me to run off and read my books – you called me a baby and said you did not wish me to sl-slow you down," Byleistr had managed to work out between barely stifled sobs.  
"Well," Helblindi had said. Then paused and glared at the sky before answering the gentle accusation. "Well... so I did. Bylla. I am sorry... and it is true that I do not wish you to join us in all activities. For you are small – still – and less inclined to – well – you know you are clumsy."  
"As are you!"  
"Yes, but I have less chance of being mauled by a wolf – or – or trampled by a jarnkottr than you are."  
"Oh."  
"Hm. Still, there is something we could do."  
"What is that?" Byleistr had looked up at his brother, red eyes wide and hopeful.  
"We could take a small trip to the top of Tveir-Tindr and find us a wolf to hunt down and slay and bring back as your trophy."  
"Is that not... dishonourable – to say I slew a wolf and you did it for me?"  
"No – no – you would slay it yourself. Then, then, we would show it to the others – as proof that one day, you will be an groa-thurs."

Byleistr had grown excited at the prospect and had extracted a promised date from his older brother. _And today is that day_ , sighed Helblindi, wishing he had found his bed sooner the evening before. _How did I forget?_

"Well? Well?" Byleistr sat up, forgetting the growing bruise on his arm. "Are we to go – or..." He paused with horrified realization. His high voice wavered. "Or not?"  
"We will go," sighed Helblindi scrubbing his face with an unsteady hand. "Go to your room and get your cloak and your pack ready. Meet me at the back gate in half an hour's span."  
"I am ready." Byleistr rose to his feet and patted at his best leather kilt proudly.  
"Hardly. You know what will happen," Helblindi rose to his feet and loomed over his much shorter brother. "You will get halfway up and complain of the cold. To your room! Get your cloak. Do as I say. And quickly! Else Tutor Rokavi will be here and keeping us busy all day."

Those were the magic words – and within minutes, Byleistr was gone, his feet barely making a sound on the well-swept, beautifully carved marble floors of the Royal estate found in Gastropnir. It was a large place – with gilded black, grey, blue and white stone, traditionally lined with the linear, gigantic sculpting of long ago. On the far side of the small palace, an equally glorious Hall stood in which his Faetha, Laufey-King presided. Helblindi dreamed of the day he could stand at his Faetha's side and take part in the Council meetings. Until then, the young Crown Prince knew he would have to work hard to prove his worth to Laufey-King – prove his responsibility, wit, strategy and abilities.

_But not today_ , Helblindi thought grimly as he quickly bathed himself in the cold spring which had been channeled throughout the house, double-checked his pack for supplies, grabbed his two favourite bow and arrows and triple-checked the skies from his balcony. T _oday, is the day Byleistr begins the path to Jotunhood. To groa-thurs._

-0-0-0-

It was easy to slip away from the Palace and then the quiet, still mostly sleeping city of Gastropnir, mainly because the two young Jotunn knew the habits, the practices and the routines of the daily lives of the commoners and could easily navigate the emptiest and quickest routes to the West Gate. Out the West Gate they slipped, knowing that the night before Guard Ikuo had no doubt spent too long hours throwing dice and drinking and was no doubt, head on his fists, sleeping at his post. He was – just outside the gate and to the right. Tiptoeing past, the two Princes left the road almost immediately and made their way with great speed across the fair-sized ice-fields found to the west of the city.

Gastropnir was fairly prosperous town, cradled by the Grarfjall mountains. When the hated Aesir had come through taking the main road to Utgard, they had burned part of Gastropnir down and had destroyed many buildings and large swaths of blakkrgrass and other herb fields found around it. Restoration had taken time and resources – neither of which the Jotun had in plenty – and yet, somehow, they had banded together and found a way. Farbauti, having taken his sons to Dagaheim, never saw the full extent of the destruction, and the two boys barely remembered the Great War – but they lived with the effects of it everyday.

Helblindi, at least, could recall the days when his parents went out to war, when his Sire had returned wounded once, and another time his Faetha had taken to lying down for long periods of time with some illness. Farbauti had shaken his head over the extensive use of the Kero Fornvetr – and had drawn his eldest son away from the flickering blue box. _The Casket_ , Helblindi shivered. _It disappeared that day – with the Aesir. And neither they or nor it has returned. Yet, we are still here. Gastropnir is still here... and beyond..._

He shifted uneasily at the thought – and decided to focus on Byleistr instead. Young Byleistr who trotted at his side, pack on his back, looking determined. Helblindi smiled. _This would be a day to remember for the both of them._

-0-0-0-

At first, the day went by rather uneventfully. Reaching the edge of a sparse jarnvithr forest which clung to the lower reaches of the mountains, Helblindi and Byleistr took a short break and, opening Byleistr's pack which he had carefully packed with food, partook of a light breakfast of fish and black bread. Then they picked their way through empty bracken, amidst an eerily silent forest and made their way to the main path which would take them up the Tveir-Tindr mountain, so named for its peculiar double peak. Like the mountain range it belonged to, Tveir-Tindr was home to the grarulfr – grey wolves who held the western portion of the Innaheim within their thrall.

Here, no wildlife stirred – hidden from the sight of the intruding Jotunn and grarulfr alike. _But then_ , Byleistr thought as he trudged behind his brother up the rocky path, glad that he had pulled on his hardy leather and jarnvithr-soled boots. _But then, Father says most of the land is too quiet these days..._

Pushing away a lock of black hair which had fallen in front of his eyes for the tenth time, Byleistr made a mental note to ask his Sire if he could get his hair cut again. _Maybe I can get Fyla - I mean, Fylgja - to let me cut it as short as Helblindi. I would look more adult then_ , he grimaced as they passed yet another tree bearing the marks of grarulfr claws. A sure sign of marking territory. _He will not allow you though... Fyla – Fylgja – says you look fine with longer hair._ Byleistr sighed.

Looking about the unnervingly quiet forest, Byleistr shivered. Rarely did he leave the confines of the city, more happy to remain within its safe walls – and even better, within the safe walls of the Royal Library, reading books about lands with green plants and flying birds and vicious dragons and fair-haired children. _This is a different world_ , he mused, _and it does not feel happy to see us at all. Which isn't surprising..._ The young Prince added philosophically. _Jotunheim does not feel happy in general – if Faetha is right... and the people are struggling to even find food, much less money... and Tutor Rokavi says that the Heart of the Realm is gone and the land is dying... Not that Faetha would agree. And 'Blindi says I mustn't ask him about it._

Byleistr sighed. The world was a confusing place, and with more time spent within it, the young Jotunn had a feeling that things would not get clearer.

"'Blindi," he said, feeling that things were too quiet by half.  
"Hm."  
"When will we get there?"  
"You are asking me that already?"  
"Well," huffed the younger Jotunn. "It is a fair question. We have been walking a fair amount-"  
"Bylla! The sun has hardly risen to the mid-day position! We will get to the top just in time for lunch – given that we do not find a trail to follow. Remember, this is not about reaching the top. It is about finding a wolf's hide to bring home."  
"Right. I remember."

Byleistr glared at 'Blindi's back and wished that his brother was not so right all the time. He sighed. And followed his brother as they wandered this way and that up the small mountain.

-0-0-0-

Despite his younger brother's assurances that he was just fine with walking all day, Helblindi knew that Byleistr had a limit. _He is used to reading and sitting about and enjoying the comfort of fire and warm blankets and Sire's tender care_ , Helblindi reminded himself when he found himself wanting to snap at the lagging energy of Byleistr. _Still young. Still... soft._

Helblindi chuckled to himself softly then. _I sound like Father._

"What?"  
"Never you mind," Helblindi shook his head, brushing off Byleistr's inquiry.  
"Are you laughing at me?" Red eyes scowled up at him. A pout was forming.  
"No, Bylla," he sighed. "It is not all about you, you know."  
"I did not say it was – nor did I insinuate that it was."  
"Truly? It sounded like it."  
"That is because you have moss in your ears."  
"Moss?"  
"Moss. It is a green growing thing. In Vanaheim. And Asgard."  
"Moss," Helblindi had to chuckle again, his rumble grating like small stones. One day, it would turn deeper. One day. Soon. "Moss."  
"Now you are laughing at me."  
"Who speaks of things that do not exist?"  
"They exist!"  
"In Vanaheim and Asgard!"  
"And they exist!"  
"But not in Jotunheim."  
"Just because it does not grow in Jotunheim, does not mean it does not exist."  
"True, but if it has no place in Jotunheim, it is no concern of ours."  
"'It is thinking such as that," Byleistr sniffed, "that leads to close-minded, short-term thinking which will send Jotunheim to an early grave.'"  
"You are quoting Councillor Dukla! You know what Faetha thinks of him."  
"I am not!"

But he was. Nothing more was said for a long time – and so, when Helblindi caught sight of a trail – he felt relieved. Motioning to Byleistr to tread even more softly, Helblindi crept forward, bent almost double, his sharp eyes catching the unmistakable signs of bent blargras and tunglblom.

"What is it?" Byleistr asked in a breathless whisper.  
"Size of a wolf," he replied in kind, "and injured... or there might be more than one. And new by at least two days, judging by the cleanness of the print. We must proceed with caution."

With that, the two continued onward – and followed through the snow and trees, around boulders, over crevices and small hills, up a small mountain spur and down into a dale. A good time passed until they reached it – a cozy depression in the ground, a large rotten jarnvithr with a hole in the middle – and an obvious tunnel reaching underground. A wolf's den – but the wolves were gone and before it, a small pack of wolf pups tumbled over each other, worrying at the meat of a snaerharra while two mothers looked on.

Byleistr slid down by Helblindi and peered in. For a moment, the two of them looked on – and after a while, Helblindi glanced down at his brother's face. _This is going to be a problem,_ he thought, as he caught sight of Byleistr's face – a mass of excitement and sadness and a growing look of shame. When smaller, sadder red eyes finally found the courage to meet larger, harder ones, the short youngling shook his head and then looked off into the forest mutely. With a sigh, tapping his brother on his shoulder and jerking his head, Helblindi soundlessly rose and backed away until the two were a good ways away, keeping carefully downwind from the wolves' den.

"Tell me what you thinking," Helblindi said, folding his arms and looking down at Byleistr. "Be honest."  
"I do not... I did not..."  
"Say it."  
"I do not wish to kill a wolf pup... it-it-it would only make me a laughing-stock at any rate."  
"We could take one of the mothers."  
"No!" Byleistr said vehemently and then both of his hands rose, covering his traitorous lips below horrified eyes which had widened at the realization that his true feelings had slipped out. "I mean-"  
"Well, at least you are honest."  
"Yet, now I am truly what they say... a coward..."  
"Hm. During any other season, on any other day, perhaps," Helblindi agreed thoughtfully. "Yet Fylgja said that to cherish life is no weakness at all."

Byleistr's head rose hopefully at Helblindi's conversational tone.

"So we will not kill the wolf today?"  
"The mothers? No. Hm. It is perhaps only right to tell you that it would be frowned upon at any rate. You see, this is the season for pups to be raised by their clans – and killing mothers is discouraged. For this season, at any rate. Only to ensure the continued survival of the wolves, you understand – a husbanding as it were of one of Jotunheim's remaining animals."  
"I see," Byleistr replied gravely – and with obvious relief. "Then... another day we can return?"  
"Certainly. We will get you a fine father – or brother – wolf to slay and return with."  
"That is a promise?"  
"A promise."  
"Then... what now?"  
"Well," Helblindi scratched his stubbled scalp. Then, he grinned, "We still have time. There is the rest of the mountain to climb. A better goal for you, I think, my lazy young scholar."  
"I am not lazy! And scholars are not lazy!"  
"True, but you are lazy – even if scholars are not – come, let us continue upwards from here. We have a mountain peak to conquer if nothing else."

And so they did.

-0-0-0-

On the westward peak they chose to climb, there was only enough room to sit and eat more of their packed food – ice berries, dried fish and eel, more black bread and a gelatin Farbauti was fond of sampling. It was also Byleistr's favourite. As he polished off the last of it, the young Jotunn looked about.

To his right lay mountains, beyond which he knew stretched forest – the Mykryr Forest he had travelled through when he was a babe, carried on Farbauti's back when they moved from Dagaheim to Gastropnir. Behind him, was the wide spaces of the heart of Innaheim: the plains and hills which surrounded the city he currently called home – and beyond, split by the roads which stretched east-wet, flat plains of grass and other cultivated fields of destitute farmers. Much, much further, there was Griotunagardar hard by the spacious fish-filled Gnottvatn Lake, just before the Kaldrfjall Mountains. To his left, was more of the same and far, far beyond, if he strained his eyes, Byleistr could imagine that he saw the banks of the wide-flowing Holdra River.

Tutor Rokavi had told him that the stories said it had been carved during a magickal battle between two Jotunn mages. So great was their magic, he said, it split the very land of Jotunheim and like a scar that healed and brought something new, water sprang up as an everlasting testament to their abilities. _To have such magick_ , Byleistr thought of his own scant abilities, _would be a gift and a burden at the same time._

Turning his eyes away from the mark of greatness, the youngling eyed what lay before him – a vista of mountains – the Grarfjall. Below them, they could see the main road winding westward.

"The road leading to Utgard," Helblindi said quietly.  
"I know," Byleistr said, shuffling through the snow until he reached the rock of the mountain. It was barer of snow during the Jotunheim "spring" season and soon enough he had found a size-able curious round rock with an jagged opening in one side. He tried to peer within it – but it remained dark and mysterious. "I can read, you know."  
"I know," Helblindi rolled his eyes and tossed another rock off the mountain. There was no sound. Byleistr wondered if it would continue bouncing down the side of the mountain and hit some innocent merchant in passing (and at this, he laughed) – or if it would get caught in some crevice along the way. "I just had to say it. To remind myself."  
"You remember it?"  
"Utgard?"  
"Hm."  
"Yes," Helblindi said. "It was a great city. Grand. With dark stone and grey marbling and architecture so heaven-bound, it seemed to rise up and up – forever."  
"But it is not like that anymore, Tutor Rokavi said."  
"Yes, it is but a shadow of its glory... and I hope I can change that. One day."  
"You will need money," Byleistr threw another stone out. It did not appear to go out as far as Helblindi and he cursed his weakness mentally. "Money and much resources if you intend to rebuild it."  
"Of course. I know that. I also read, if you remember."  
"I am merely ensuring that your high hopes have some grounding in reality," Byleistr said snottily, watching Helblindi's rock disappear further out – again.  
"Here, let me have that rock-"  
"No!" Byleistr hugged the round rock he had found to himself. "I am keeping this. I – I – I wish to observe it."  
"Observe a rock?" Helblindi asked skeptically.  
"Well, yes... It is a curious treasure. I found it, so I can keep it."  
"It is dirty thing. Rocks should be thrown. Or heaved."  
"Some rocks are carved-"  
"Now, this conversation is getting dull," Helblindi rose.  
"You are saying that because I was right."  
"Bylla," Helblindi sighed. "Just... Never mind. Let us go. The suns are moving westward – we need to make the walls before nightfall – or..."

Both boys flinched at the thought of the hiding they would receive if they did not return in time. With this in mind, Byleistr packed up hurriedly, making certain his rock was secured at the bottom of his pack – away from Helblindi's careless hands and knowing eyes. _It is a good memory to keep_ , Byleistr thought.

"So what are you going to do with that dull, grey rock of yours? Put it above your bed? On that shelf of yours?"  
"Maybe," Byleistr replied stiffly. "Maybe not."  
"Hm. I know that is what you will do."  
"Why do you say that?"  
"You always do things like that. You remember that time we went to Gnottvatn for the summer and hunted eels – you kept the skeleton of the first eel you gutted – and your skewer!"  
"What-"  
"Do not think I did not see it. I did."  
"'Blindi!" Pause. "Stop laughing!"  
"I will laugh if I choose. And if you deserve it."  
"I do not deserve it! Just because you do not collect memories does not-"  
"Ha! So it is a case of collecting a memory! I knew it- OW!"

Byleistr had thrown a snowball at the back of Helblindi's head. If a few bits of ice had made their way into it, that was not his fault.

"Byla! There was ice in there!"  
"I was just checking to see how tough your skin has gotten-"  
"You said that last week when you poked me with the cook's fire iron!"  
"That was last week – oh!"

Helblindi had returned the favour (without ice). The rest of the journey was made at a quicker pace – and it was twice as enjoyable, fighting and bickering aside.

For that is what siblings do. That is what they are – for all of time.

As they made their way out of the forest and across the fields, they saw the gates of Gastropnir rising in the distance – and the yellow of warm lights and sparse fires and the faint blue and purple glow of rare crystal lamps, which had survived the War. The two Princes drew closer.

The gates gained definition – gained metallic grating and warped wood slats and intricately wrought locks which ran up and down the entire middle of it. Locks they knew secured it safely from the inside from the night terrors of the Grarfjall Mountains. And the Aesir. Drawing closer, Byleistr and Helblindi could make out the new guard for the evening – and two familiar figures: Laufey and Farbauti. Setting their shoulders and raising their chins, the two young Jotunn forged onward, making their way over ice and snow and blakkrgras.

As the two drew near, Helblindi relaxed a little – judging by Laufey's expression, there was a scolding up ahead, but nothing serious. Underneath the annoyance was not-so-well-hidden pride.

Farbauti was definitely more anxious, but his face lit up at the apparent health of his youngest and Byleistr felt his chest puff out just a bit more proudly underneath his rough black cloak. He had gone out – and on an unsanctioned jaunt to boot. Furthermore, he had tracked a wolf to its den, had climbed a mountain and taken a piece of treasure, however grey and dirty, Helblindi thought it. At the sight of Farbauti's obvious relief and joy, Byleistr knew what his evening would entail: a large dinner and a light scolding.

Then he would tell his story. Farbauti would cluck and shake his head and praise him for his kindness and intelligence and would gave him a dire look upon hearing of his bickering with Helblindi and how they threw rocks on merchants' heads from a great height. Then, Byleistr would take out his stone and show Fylgja what he had brought back – which Farbauti would praise.

It went as expected. Almost.

That night, Farbauti turned the rock over and over in his hands before giving Byleistr and odd look. Without warning, he leaned forward to rap it sharply against the floor, splitting it jaggedly in half. Byleistr cried out in disappointment – and then blinked at the green which glittered, now revealed. Green gems, groensteinn, hidden within!

Farbauti smiled, "Now, that is a great treasure to place on your shelf – and a grand prize to show to the others as proof of your quest."

"But... I did not slay a wolf. Helblindi says that slaying a wolf is a great deed."  
"There will always be wolves to slay, but this is much rarer," Farbauti said in appeasement, ruffling Byleistr's dark hair. "Trust me."  
"Very well... Helblindi said it was a useless grey rock and should just be thrown. Ha! This will show him!"  
"Indeed... it is amazing to me," Farbauti smiled softly, "how the small things, the seemingly ugly things or the plain hold great treasures within. One should never judge a being by its appearance."  
"You think so?" asked Byleistr tentatively.  
"I know so. There is beauty in everything – if you have the eye for it. And I know you can see such treasures in many things."  
"Treasures like these?"  
"Yes. And this is a treasure. For you may not know – but this was born out of magick – during the foundation of this Realm, when there was nothing but light and matter and our land coalesced as all the others did alongside it... and over time, water ran inside the stones and built up such glorious gems, bearing magick preserved since the beginning. A glorious picture of a happier time, I think," Farbauti cradled the halves in hand before setting them on Byleistr's smaller lap and watching the glow move slowly across the small face at his elbow. "The Time of Ancient Winters – that is a great thing to remember – and the uncounted years before."  
"The time when the Casket was made?"  
"When it was born... Yes..."  
"It was born?" Byleistr's bright eyes glinted as he sensed a story. Quickly he set the glowing gems on his shelf, watching the light play on the dim ceiling above – and then he trapped Farbauti by crawling onto his Mother's – Sire's – larger lap. "How can stone be born?"

Farbauti laughed, knowing when he had been bested. Byleistr had always had the sense to think things through before others even started.

"Well, hm, let us see – it began during the Forgotten Time, the years and years and years we do not count – and when we began to count–"  
"During the Ancient Times," Byleistr recited encouragingly.  
"Yes, during the Ancient Times, they say – the stories say, traditions tells of a great people who learned how to harness the magicks of Jotunheim which swirled freely in the air and settled within the very water and land itself. And thus, one day, a Jotunn whose name we no longer remember was crossing the far northward land of the Utanheim – the Mornathbjoth, when he saw-"

And Farbauti's voice drifted off into the night of Jotunheim, where the wolves' howled with the wind and their voices mingled on empty planes.

**[...for the skies of Jotunheim are empty...]**

**[...and empty they remain...]**

**[...for all time...]**

**[...unless...]**


	2. Side Story 2: First Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: These are the untold tales of of "Distortions In Time" - a journey to other worlds and places and scenes not yet shown in the epic tale of Loki. Jotun!Loki AU. Set pre-/during-/after Thor/Avengers Assemble. MCU-verse only.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers. Marvel owns it. I do not get paid for this piece of work. Sadly, but understandably. LOL.
> 
> Author's Note 1: This side-story fits just before the start of Chapter 33.
> 
> Author's Note 2: As a young child, I lived for four years in the Middle East and as an adult I've been living for five years in China – and I can now say that culture shock is an interesting beast (even more so, reverse culture shock). It doesn't happen to me so much, but it's interesting to see how it shows itself in my friends and others around me. Haha. So this story is written in a little different style – with a mixed-up line of narration and no linear plot. You will see what I mean. This is a very topical treatise and not my usual style for "DiT" but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
> 
> Characters: Loki, Thor, Warriors Three, Sif
> 
> 21 FREAKING PAGES. THAT'S IT FOLKS. I'M DONE!

**Distortions In Time: The Untold Tales**

  
**Side Story Two:**   
**First Days**   


**[...the seedling struggles upward...]**

**[...to find the rays of the sun...]**

**[...and breaking into the blue sky...]**

**[...it unfurls and blossoms...]**

**[...struggles to survive...]**

_Today_ , Kol'la wrote in the small leather bound journal he had brought with him from Sharda'aa, _begins a new life. What shall it bring, I wonder? Each new world I find myself upon, I struggle to understand, to accept – to bend beneath as black grass does before the great winds which passes over – and in bending, they – I – do not break. Yet, I feel as though this may be a whole new level of challenge. We shall see what time brings forth._

Kol'la was more right than he knew.

**\- Sun (Part I – The Rays) -**

The sun was close to setting when Kol'la arrived on Asgard, yet thanks to his seemingly endless existence within the artificial surroundings of the mining colony and Sharda'aa, the young man found himself squinting in the bright golden light as he followed his escorts down the Bifrost and into the centre of Asgard's capital.

 _Light_ , Kol'la thought incoherently as he passed between gleaming colonnades, glittering gold and shining silver wreathing everything in overdecorated filigree and sun rays glistening on the clear waters of the wide city waterfall which rushed in its various rivers down from the mountains and plunged into the sea below the Bifrost. Everything seemed to have its own glow as if luminous from the inward out and Kol'la's green eyes flinched away from the brightness of it all.

The following morning, his eyesight adjusted a little easier as he followed the others in their daily routine of washing faces and hands, combing back hair and finding their way to the long table trestles where breakfast was served. It was early – and the sky was slowly suffused with pink and warm orange as the sun took its time getting out of bed – and Kol'la found himself put to work learning the intricacies of horse and animal care as well as his other duties.

Several days later, the new stable hand found himself under the heat of the afternoon shovelling manure from the pig-pen behind the secondary stables. Sweat trickled down his bared back as he worked his way around the large pen currently devoid of the fat, porky animals which had been released into a field lying further beyond. At first, the sun felt oddly gentle on his back, but over time, Kol'la began to feel the pressure of the heat fall even more heavily on his shoulders, as if it the rays were an actual burden set there. Tension radiated throughout his body and an odd tightness spread throughout his skin.

"Kol'la, well met!"

It was Thor. Kol'la looked around and, swiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, frowned, now rather annoyed at the interruption – at how Thor's voice resonated with a sudden increasingly painful headache and at how the black strands of his hair stuck to his face, heavy with sweet and dirt.

"Ah! There you are!" the Prince vaulted over the low pen fence and strode over to clasp Kol'la warmly on the shoulders.  
"AH!" Kol'la stiffened as pain shot down from Thor's hand, vibrating through suddenly sensitive skin. "Oh-"  
"Kol'la?" Thor's face fell and then wrinkled with worry as his friend swayed a little. "Kol'la – Kol'la!"

That was the last thing Kol'la heard.

**\- Food -**

The tall, slender lad eyed the wide table before him uncertainly. Stirring uneasily on his rough wooden seat, Kol'la looked about, eyeing the other stable hands who dug in boisterously for the early morning meal. He looked down again at the platters placed along the table which he knew he would have to reach for. _This style of communal eating is not so unfamiliar to you_ , the new stable hand of Asgard told himself. _Yet... and yet..._

And yet.

It looked strange to his eyes – the flat white eggs, the unevenly cut slices of bread which had been toasted over the fire with long metal forks, the stacks of unknown red-brown and black meat, the small bowls of odd round-shaped brown vegetables (he assumed) and the various kinds of drink of which he could partake. There was some kind of tea – dark and strong. Another lighter kind. Water. Milk. And a drink they called 'mead' (an alcohol, he presumed, remembering Thor's boasting of how many pints he could down in a single sitting), which apparently was allowed for breakfast. _Strange._ The oils and spicings were dull to his taste and within minutes, Kol'la knew that getting used to the food would be a bit more difficult than he thought previously.

He sighed.

This was going so well. Already.

**\- The Stables -**

The stables became the world for Kol'la, scaled down to several grand spans of cobblestone and row upon row of intricately carved stable doors and high-ceilings of the stables for the Royal string. Here, the purebreds of Asgard lived out their days in comfort, interspersed with glorious adventures, courtesy of Thor and his flock of witless followers – or the King's Guards. Here, Kol'la laboured, learning the hard way how to protect his weapon-hardened hands for the more manual, tedious labour of the pitchfork, the hoe, the shovel and the rake.

It was a job that only brought Kol'la fatigue and boredom – and other daily annoyances brought by the fat, black flies which hovered about him as he moved piles of shat from one place to another, by the stinging wasps and whirring bugs, and by the heedless, disobedient farm animals which often escaped their pens and wandered about.

 _I can already tell_ , he wrote in his journal, _that this life is not for me. If there was any question about whether this was my calling, four days of hard labour have answered it for me – the rest of my life cannot be spent here. Surely, this will drive to me to madness before the end of my days._

**\- Stable Hands -**

"Ah," laughed Iortha, slapping Kol'la heartily (and painfully) on the back. "Just listen to him talk! He obviously has not yet seen Asgard at its finest!"  
"Well, considering how busy Commander Farfin has kept him," chuckled another stable hand, "that is no surprise."  
"I am aware of Asgard's greatness," Kol'la said coldly and carefully, leaning away from the too heavy, too hot grip of his supposed friends and work mates. "Word spreads throughout the Realms and the universe-"  
"As it should-"  
"-and speaks of Asgard's supremacy in no small words, yet, I would argue that there is no perfect world in the univ-"  
"Ahhh... now, Kol'la, that stinks of pessimism there-"  
"Let the boy find out the joys of this life in his own way," the more gentle Gwyar smiled. "Perhaps there is something out there that Asgard is missing out on-"  
"Highly unlikely," sniffed Kithur, "else we would have found it before now-"  
"-and made it better-" added Iortha, with a loud chortle. "Come, Kol'la, take this pint and drink that frown away. Surely the night is better spent smiling!"

Kol'la wondered, staring into the new pint of mead forced into his hand, if he could get away with murder in Asgard. _Probably not_ , he sighed morosely, _considering that the Keeper of the Gate sees all_. Thus, Kol'la lost the argument as he was wont to do, only due to the sheer thick-headedness of his new-found "friends". Life in Asgard never seemed more burdensome.

 _And it is only the second week_ , Kol'la thought despairingly.

**\- At the Pub -**

"The Red Dragon is the best place in which to find news," Thor had told Kol'la the night before, breath rather rancid with some fairly strong mead. "You must join us the next time we go there!"  
"When I have time, Thor," Kol'la had replied waspishly, trying to remove Thor's heavy bicep from around his neck (and failing). "Which I have little of, thanks to, you know, work."

Yet, a month later, Kol'la found himself dragged into the eastern part of the the capital and into a rather large, spacious, busy, obviously popular pub so labelled 'The Red Dragon'. The owners – a tall, hearty couple – bustled about toting large pints of mead and various imported cordials and wines from other Realms, the sight of which perked Kol'la's interest. That and the obvious foreigners who sat about the tables. Elves, Dwarves and other friendly aliens grouped about, discussing trade, politics and other matters common to all beings across the universe.

Within minutes, Thor was surrounded ( _as was his wont_ , Kol'la thought with a disgusted sigh) and Kol'la found himself on the periphery, listening into the tall tales which the traders, star-ship captains and other travellers spun for the Prince's willing ears. As each story unfolded, Kol'la found himself shaking his head with incredulity at how easily Thor appeared to agree with the men, to believe what they had to say.

 _Asgard was the mightiest Realm in the entire universe_ , the stories said. _It overshadowed all and was threatened by none. Other traders had different angles – the weakness of various planets ripe for the taking. Of bandits who roamed, begging to be punished for their wicked deeds. The ease with which they had just recently fought off a hoard on Planet Tylro-571 (an extremely fiery planet within a binary star system). How Thor could have fought them off in his sleep – how the bandits had fled to the neighbouring star system in the Unath region..._

And Kol'la saw before his eyes the seeds of interest within Thor's eyes – seeds growing and blossoming, until the idea lay ripe within his mind. This was the birthplace of Thor's quests. Leaning forward, massaging his eyes with a hand and slowly rubbing his forehead which now was threatening to burst forth with a headache, Kol'la wondered why he had decided to take on such an a friend with such obvious lack of commonsense.

_Does he not know they spout such lies to assuage his sense of pride? Does he not see they only wish to curry favour with the King's son? Can he so easily believe such tall tales – and so continue to overestimate his own abilities? Is this how he ended up as a slave on Sharda'aa? Does his father understand the consequences of allowing his son to gobble up such tales without any sense of direction from above?_

Kol'la suddenly wondered if Asgard's future was all that certain.

 _We are doomed_ , he sighed. _Doomed._

**\- Food (Again) -**

Asgard had wonderful fruit, Kol'la had come to that firm decision. Wonderfully fresh fruit and vegetables, culled from the very gardens of the farms surrounding the outskirts of the city and brought in daily by farmers' sons and daughters. The meat, although not always well-spiced, was lean and well-cooked and Kol'la thought that, in all, Asgardian cuisine definitely provided a healthy balance for its citizens.

Yet, he grumbled to himself four days later at breakfast, _no variety... at all. None at all... and it looks like there will be none for the foreseeable future._ Kol'la sighed to himself softly, glancing about at the others who were heartily digging into their own helpings now stacked miles high upon their dark wood plates.

"And everything is served hot!" Kol'la found himself complaining to Thor six days later. "Is there nothing cool about to eat?"  
"Cool?" Thor blinked. "You mean food that is cold? Ah! Well, if you sneak into the Head Cook's pantry, there is always some cold mutton or-"  
"No, I mean... ices and such like – or raw fish-"  
"Do we look like savage Frost Giants?" Thor guffawed. "Things should be cooked. In the proper way... or you become ill."  
"On Sharda'aa-"  
"Ah," Thor shook his head sage, "but we are not on Sharda'aa anymore-"  
"I noticed," Kol'la bit out, "but surely Asgard could attempt to consider other ways of food preparation – cold things – sweet things-"  
"We have sweet things!" Thor protested. "You just wish for more than the usual!"  
"Just because you could live on meat alone-"  
"I do not live on meat alone-"  
"Ah – and what are you eating this afternoon-"  
"Well-"  
"Ha! See! I told you! Meat!"  
"Kol'la..." Thor sighed and at his long-suffering look, Kol'la subsided.  
"Never mind," the young stable hand said. "It matters not. It is only food."  
"Yes," Thor said, uncertainly, echoing Kol'la slowly. "Only food."

Later on, much later on, Kol'la found the things he could enjoy – and the memory of cool fish slices, alien spiced dishes and the sweet deserts of Sharda'aa faded with time, replaced by other, better things.

So he told himself.

**\- All-Speech -**

Within the first week, Kol'la visited the Mage's Academy under the careful supervision of Commander Farfin who was suspicious of his underling's supposed penchant for the womanly arts of magick. Once there, Kol'la underwent a series of spells and charms (mysterious and full of magick, which impressed the young stable hand no end) which endowed him with Asgard's famed All-Speech.

"From now on," the mage said to Kol'la slowly and clearly ( _as though I am stupid, which is rather insulting_ , Kol'la thought), "you will understand any language within the universes and beyond."  
"That is a rather strong assertion to make," the stable hand had to say.  
"We are confident in the power of this charm, and it will stay with you until the end of your days," was the pompous reply, accompanied by a sharp glare at the obviously unimpressed newcomer before him. "Be grateful."  
"He is," Commander Farfin grunted. "Or he would be if he was fully aware of what this moment means, but you will have to forgive his ignorance-"  
"I know-"  
"We are going now," Farfin said quickly and dragged his precocious underling away before the lad got himself into trouble with his already legendary scathing tongue. "Blessings on you," he added vaguely before pushing Kol'la out the door and down the passageway.  
"But-" Kol'la tried to twist away (and failed), "I wished to see the place where the boulders revolve about-"  
"We are doing no such thing," Farfin bit out. "There is work to be done, young Kol'la. Time enough for that ergi nonsense later on."

With that, Kol'la was hustled out the Academy and onto the broad street before it. Wistfully gazing back, Kol'la wondered if he would ever find out the mysteries of the spells and charms chanted over him that day. _Having the All-Speech will be handy... Still_ , he mused, _relying on All-Speech makes for a lazy scholar._ And Kol'la applied himself to learning Elvish (both Dark and Light variations), Dwarvish (similarly), High Asgardian and Low Midgardian.

There were days, when he heard the not so softly spoken whispers of 'ergi' muttered behind his back, that he wished he did not understand.

**\- Food (Seriously When Do They Not Eat?) -**

_If I have to go to one more feast_ , Kol'la wrote a month and a half after arrival in Asgard, _I shall explode from the sheer weight of food which I have consumed. Never have I seen a race so enamoured with what they put in their mouths. At that double entendre, Kol'la smirked to himself – and then glared as he remembered he had yet another feast to attend the following week. Forget the food, he continued to write, pressing his quill a bit more harder than necessary onto the pages, the company alone is enough to make one commit suicide – due to the extreme stupidity shown when large groups of warriors and the such-like end up drunk together._

_The amount of drunken wrestling and witless challenges I have witnessed and been party to is almost... criminal. Furthermore, the entertainment devolves from the mundane to the merely crass and moronic._

_And even worse_ , Kol'la sighed, setting down his pen, _if Thor is there – that is all I ever hear about. Thor this. Thor that. Thor killed some beast on some planet or in some Realm. Or he saved some maiden and bedded her for six hours straight or some such senseless tall tale. Ach! Where on Asgard can I find intelligent company? Surely there must be some kind of meal that involves thoughtful conversation devoid of alcoholic ramblings, dangerous feats of strength and public wenching?_

Kol'la considered "falling ill". _Lying is second nature to me_ , he mused. _I could make such a ruse no one would know the falsity of it._

He was seriously considering it.

**\- Song and Dance and Tale-Telling and Fitting In -**

Not all feasts turned out to be total losses of time, as Kol'la discovered later on. There were those moments that he could utilize his own skills for entertainment to draw a crowd. The boisterous gay songs of love and chivalry and feats of strength, Kol'la learned to sing quickly, realizing that more complicated pieces on constancy and life held little interest for the Asgardians.

Dancing, always a skill in which he had shown great ability, was a good way to pass the time – if there was a girl to be had. The group circle and line dances could sometimes last upward of half an hour, for which Kol'la had to build up his endurance. Often he would return home, feet aching and rather out of breath and wishing that other forms of dancing (one on one partnered dancing, slow dancing) were also common within Asgard. _Perhaps they would be interested in learning_ , Kol'la mused, falling into his bed one night, groaning as he eased off his leather boots. _They are a tactile people._ The red sores on his pale feet looked angry in the dim light and Kol'la sighed as he realized that the following day was particularly busy and his feet would not thank him for that.

 _Yes_ , he thought, _perhaps they would be interested._

Some were, Kol'la found out later, but not all. The same went for story-telling. Kol'la's abilities with magick enchanted his audiences easily. However, the subject of his tales, he discovered, had to be chosen wisely. If it was about Thor (the Norns forbid) or some other Asgardian hero or heroine, the Asgardians were delighted. Any other kind of tale not related to Asgard was met with polite disinterest, although a few scholars and other travellers praised Kol'la for the veracity of his tales or the stylistic qualities he had brought to the story.

Thus, Kol'la found his place within Asgard. Silvertongue, he was so named and carried that moniker for all time.

**\- Daily Life -**

Daily life, within the first week, was made twice as difficult thanks to the various rhythms of life within Asgard so different to Sharda'aa, the mining colony and Jotunheim. Simple things, such as shopping, doing one's laundry, getting supplies or running errands became almost impossible to achieve in a timely manner thanks to the labyrinthine layout of Asgard's capital city, the unclear directions given him and the crooked paths the streets took in the lower end of the city.

Getting lost became a regular thing for Kol'la and everyone came to expect Kol'la's constant tardiness. Commander Farfin, in his usual colourful way, showed no sympathy and much later on, Kol'la would attribute his rapid learning curve to Farfin's expectation that Kol'la would figure it out as he went along.

Commander Farfin was right. He usually was.

Yet, Kol'la still got lost once in a while. Once in a while.

**\- Sun (Part II – The Burn) -**

It was blessedly cool when Kol'la woke. For a moment, he lay there, confused, gathering his thoughts and attempting to remember who he was and where. Disoriented, his eyes wandered over dark oak beams and winced at the sight of golden light streaming in through wide windows. Attempting to rise, the young man groaned as sharp pains lanced through his entire body. Moving any muscle seemed tortuous to him and Kol'la laid back sharply – only to gasp as his back hit the rough blankets below him. He lay there speechless and twitching for a little while – and then shivering as the heated fire of his skin contrasted painfully with the cool within his core.

"Turn over," said a soft voice, which Kol'la obeyed instinctively.  
"It is bad, is it not?" Thor's voice, uncharacteristically soft, spoke out somewhere behind Kol'la as a cool hand laid itself on Kol'la's back. "Here is the water as you asked."  
"Good, now, sit and let me do my work."  
"Many thanks, Healer Theyla," Thor said, obeying the older woman. "I have never seen anything like it."  
"Well, that is because few these days come to Asgard to find a new life here. Not since the Old Days, hm... and really, rather foolish of you all to put him to work beneath the sun after such long years on darkened planets and born in space, no doubt. Such tenderness of skin, such a kind of a burn is almost to be expected if one does not find adequate shade. Also – here, drink this," and Kol'la's throbbing head was slowly turned and a blessedly cool cup was pressed to his lips offering much needed water. "Also it appears as though he had forgotten to keep water within his system. It is good you called me when you did, my Prince, for if he had pushed himself any further..." The healer drifted off shaking her head. "How do you feel now?"  
"A little... better..." rasped Kol'la.  
"It will take a good twenty minutes for the heat distemper to pass, but I am afraid your skin will remain tender for a few good days. I have placed a cream by your night table which you should apply to your back to ease the ache."  
"What – what is it?" Kol'la asked, befuddled.  
"A burn from the sun, young one... this has been, perhaps, the first time you have experienced such a thing, has it not?"  
"Yes..."  
"As I thought," the healer nodded and began to apply the cool cream to his back. "No fear, young one. After this, you should tan well enough. My Prince-"  
"I can help." Thor's voice was much closer now and the healer sighed and then moved back, allowing Thor to take over. "Rub gently. As one would a cat-"  
"Or a woman," chuckled Thor.  
"I will kill you," Kol'la growled lazily – but with no heat, as he enjoyed the welcome cool of the lotion.

A pause. Then Kol'la shifted uneasily as Thor finished up and moved away, wiping his hands on a towel nearby. He felt... _Guilty? Already I have become a burden for Asgard_ , Kol'la sighed. _I was not able to complete the task set to me. The Commander will be furious..._ Attempting to prop himself up, Kol'la reached for the cup, only to find himself pressed back down gently and the cup retrieved for him and held to his lips. Thor's broad hand cupped the back of Kol'la's head carefully, helping the younger man as though he were an aged invalid. Kol'la struggled with the need to wrestle for the cup, but with a sigh gave in. _Thor wants to help you_ , Kol'la told himself. _You should let him. This is a safe place_ , he reminded himself. _You are home._

"I need – I need to return to-"  
"Commander Farfin says you are to rest, Kol'la..." Thor frowned. "I did not think that – I did not think to warn you – I thought-"  
"It is my fault-"  
"No – the blame lies with me, I should have said something-"  
"Thor-"  
"Kol'la-"

The voices, overlapping for a moment, cancelled each other out. Then the two young men chuckled and Kol'la allowed himself to lie back down on his stomach.

"I feel a fool," he admitted painfully.  
"It could happen to any newcomer to Asgard."  
"Really?"  
"Well, the Elves do not take the sun as we do. Neither do they burn overly much. They have their own ways, I suppose... and the Dwarves, although preferring the cool of the mountains, are a hardy race and can take anything nature inflicts upon them. The Fire Giants, of course, glory in the flames of their star... but other realms... like Jotunheim would suffer under such heat. Frost Giants, I hear tell, cannot bear the rays of the sun overly long, which is why they are fond of attacking at night and bringing darkness to the worlds they desire. Savages, they are, who find joy in their frozen hell."  
"Hm," grunted Kol'la noncommittally, wishing he could find a bank of snow roll in it.

A pause. Then in a small voice, Kol'la asked: "Do you think I will tan?"  
"Of course," Thor smiled then. "Everyone does!"

But Kol'la did not.

**\- The Pub (Here We Are Again) -**

Kol'la was not a stranger to the lure of drink. He had long known what the symptoms were – the gaiety of some, the silence of others and the hard fists of uncontrolled rage of the angry drunkard. _Thyrstr_ , he remembered, sitting with his back to the rough boards of the pub's side alcove where Thor liked to hold court on a weekend evening, _loved to drink. And drinking, he became another person, sometimes releasing his frustrations from within. He was, as I recall, a young rascal trapped in a dying city._

Just remembering the heavy feet of Thyrstr kicking him, the throb of heavy bruises and his soft crying as he was thrown headlong into the jarnvithr cupboard he had called home sat ill with Kol'la. He gulped another mouthful of his mead – and grimaced, wishing they had something colder on tap at the 'Galloping Horseman". Gulping down the rest, Kol'la set the heavy glass pint down a little too loudly, rattling the few plates of meat which had been laid out for them. Stabbing at a few slices with his small knife, Kol'la kept half an ear out for Thor's loud conversation with a few nobles who had come by to wish him a good evening. As usual, their talk had devolved into the too familiar retelling of Thor's "quest" on Sharda'aa.

"And out of it, I gained a worthy shield brother!" Thor ended, clapping Kol'la on the back, causing the younger boy to sputter as some of his third pint found its way down his wind-pipe.  
"Thor – are you trying to kill me?" he snapped.

Thor just laughed.

As the night progressed, Kol'la allowed the heady influence of the mead to take over. With increased confidence and ease, the dark-haired young man laughed and joked and helped Fandral to pull two very successful pranks on Volstagg (to the older warrior's annoyance). Then, the main floor was clearing for dancing and Kol'la found himself taking a young, blonde-haired wench in hand and spinning her about expertly across the floor – to the whoops and huzzahs of the onlookers.

In a blur of laughter, drink, light feasting, gossiping and such like, the evening passed into the wee hours of the morning – and eventually everyone found either a room at the inn next door or some space on the floor inside (or outside).

Kol'la woke, head fuzzy and pounding between two wenches. Part of him, annoyed at his own foolishness, cursed Thor for wasting his night with tomfoolery. Another part of him, as his hands drifted down the bare back of a comely maid, exalted in the fact that apparently, judging by the familiar twitching boot further down the small room, Thor had ended up on the floor.

**\- Masters -**

"-and then you had to go and show such disrespect to Lord Varthr, did you not? And a nicer man you will not meet. What were you thinking?"

Commander Farfin had caught him by the ear and was not letting go as he dragged Kol'la through the stable yard bawling at the wincing Kol'la, at anyone who got in his way, at the cow which had wandered in from some field and at the nearest stable boy who was sent scurrying to take said cow back to where it belonged. Kol'la bit his lip as Farfin yanked him toward a familiar horse tethering post.

"I tell you what – you were not thinking – again. Or if you were, you were just giving into that foolishness you have shored up in that vain head of yours thanks to the Prince, bless him. But, really, this is becoming a pattern with you, Kol'la – your inability to know your place – always walking on that edge and testing what you can get away with-"

There was no sign of the Commander letting up any time soon.

"-but you are not getting away with it under my watch – oh no – no, you will not! I will not have disrespect and wilful foolishness in my yard, or my name is not Commander Farfin. I run a tight ship, if you take my meaning-"

Here, he pulled off a leather thong from his belt and crushing Kol'la's wrists together, lashed the young stable hand to one of the post's iron rings tightly. The rough, round, wooden post stood shoulder high, with five rings at varying heights and points about it for easy tethering of one's horse – and in this case, a recalcitrant, sulking, dark-haired stable hand who had made the mistake of saying something disrespectful under his breath.

The others about the yard, eyes darting the way of the bawling Commander, looked sympathetic, Kol'la noticed. _Obviously, they too have come under the Commander's fury for some reason or the other._ Kol'la cursed to himself. _Aiya, how was I to know the old auzha's hearing was so sharp? Or that commenting on one's height was a sign of disrespect?_

Dipping his head as Farfin yanked Kol'la's tunic upward, Kol'la bit his lip again at the sight of Farfin removing his belt. It had been a while since he had been foolish enough to be caught by Shax and whipped – but apparently it was not his last time.

However, unlike Shax, Kol'la discovered, Commander Farfin was fair, if severe, and after ten strikes, the belt was placed back around the stout Asgardian's waist, Kol'la's tunic was yanked down and the stable hand was sent off summarily to complete his chores, back aching. When Kol'la returned to the stable hand's dormitory common room, he found the Healer Theyla waiting with a long-suffering look on her face and a soothing potion-based cream in hand.

"You should mind your tongue, lad," the old woman tutted as she gently pushed up the shirt and inspected the broad bruising and weals that had formed across his tender, pale skin. "You are more delicate than most-"  
"I am not delicate," Kol'la grumbled as he drew up his knees to his chest and leaned forward, allowing her to better smooth the cream over his back.  
"Well, delicate is perhaps unkind to say – but you are not used to our ways," said Theyla. "The Prince said you are known as Silvertongue... best use it for your own good, is what I say. You are not making things easier for yourself."

Kol'la said nothing for a moment until the Healer's rough finger grazed a spot where the hard leather of the Commander's belt had broken skin. Hissing, he jerked a little and she hummed a little, easing the cuts closed.

"There," she said after fifteen minutes. "Better?"  
"Yes," he replied, eyes still trained on the ground as she drew his tunic down and swivelled him about on his stool seat.

Drawing his chin upward, forcing their eyes to meet, the old Healer gave him a look.

"You know why it happened?"  
"Yes."  
"Will it happen again?"  
"I do not – I do not know," Kol'la admitted finally. "Sometimes things slip out-"  
"Yes, I imagine so," Theyla smiled then and patted him on the cheek. "You are young, after all."  
"I am not stupid."  
"I did not say you were. I said you were young."

A pause and Theyla patted him on the cheek.

"Young and a handsome creature to boot," she smiled then, winking. "Mind what you say, Silvertongue, and I warrant the world will be yours for the having."

With that, the no-nonsense woman swept off, shaking her head and chuckling over the matter. Kol'la could have sworn she heard her say something like: "Boys... Norns love'em."

He grinned and experimentally moved his arms. _Yes_ , he thought, _we are young, we make mistakes... all of us... and I will figure out the rules to these games... in time..._

**\- Clothes -**

_The clothing I wear is little better than the kirtle I had worn as a child. Rough and obviously homespun, they are rather uncomfortable and do not make the burden of heat any lighter. No matter how few layers I wear, I always feel too warm within them. The barely finished weave of my tunic is always scratching my skin – and the cream colour attracts all manner of grime to it within an hour of work. The dark brown of my pants at least hides more of the dirt – yet, they are rather large in the hips for me... and the others always say that my clothing looks too big. I cannot way for my next pay. By then, I will have saved up enough for a tailor. The only good thing about my uniform are my boots which were made of the best Asgardian leather available. Riding boots, apparently, are considered the most important pieces of all Asgardian wardrobes, apparently, which is well since I am working on my feet for most of the day. Still, thanks to this heat, my feet sweat more and have begun to develop painful red marks which Healer Theyla calls 'blisters'. I have never experienced them before... but she says eventually my feet will toughen and until that day I must wear thicker socks. This makes the heat even more unbearable..._

**\- Showers -**

All of his life, Kol'la had lived in communal living quarters with beings of all kinds and had long since lost any self-consciousness about his body - or so he had thought. Watching the other stable hands wrestle under the warm spray of the water, horsing about and laughing and jostling for the soap, Kol'la could not help but notice (once again, yet again) how different they were compared to him.

Much more muscled, glowing with healthy tans and the proper amount of weight, the young men stood proud in the might of their youth. Kol'la, now having lived amongst them for a good two months, felt more than ever how odd he was compared to them. Taller, thinner, paler and obviously less developed.

Once again, he remembered with painful clarity, the moment of helplessness and disappointment and shame as he stood before his brother.

**...YOU HAVE BEEN WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING...**

Kol'la fled the showers.

**\- The Marketplace -**

After the second week, Kol'la found time to go to the marketplace with a bunch of the stable hands and lower court officials. When they arrived, he found himself stopping at the west entrance in order to just stare at what lay before him – an expansive market the likes of which he had never seen before. Not even Utgard or Snjarhamr had such markets as this.

It was a wide square, the edges of which he could not easily see, of well-set, grey cobblestones over which rumbled packed carts, several spans high, teetering with various imported and exported wares. Folks pushed each other about slowly – quickly – loudly – as stall owners bustled about brandishing their products or yelling information about what was on sale that day and the shoppers paused to listen, to look, to peer at what was offered.

And what was offered!

Live produce – birds and cows and other creatures he had not yet seen before – squawked and clucked and mooed and made other strange noises from their various pens. Feathers flew, eggs were lifted and inspected, small piglets hefted and every now and then a chicken's voice was silenced with the final chop of a butcher's blade. Then there were the large racks of red meat, hanging in the various butcher stalls – fresh and gleaming. There were baskets of fish as well, laid out carefully. Some fish were yet alive and swam in large glass tubs for those who preferred fresh catch.

Other kinds of produce there were as well – vegetables and fruits. So many Kol'la could not recognize and a few he could. Their scents and spices hung in the air, beckoning those who were hungry. Kol'la watched as three boys distracted one slender shopkeeper while a fourth stole four orange fruits from an unguarded basket. A soldier yelled, the scamps scattered and the shopkeeper cursed while a few other onlookers laughed good-naturedly.

Then, in between were the peddlers offering bright, flashing trinkets, gaudy jewelry, pieces of gold and silver inset with gems, rare items of dragon bone from the Dragon Folk of Niflheim and Muspelheim. Books were also sold in a few stalls, he noticed. Thick, black tomes, small red ones, tall blue ones and others of varying size and colour – all inviting him to touch, to read and to enjoy.

Kol'la spent an hour there until, exhausted by the noise and the press of the crowds, he retreated with a few chilled fruits and a book on Elven magic. Finding a comfortable seat in a welcoming tree within the first horse field, Kol'la opened the book and began to read while reaching for an apple.

 _This_ , he thought, _is what Asgard is all about._

**\- Dangers of Back Alleys -**

There was danger too, Kol'la discovered as he peeled himself off the hard stones of the back alley he had thought to use for a shortcut. Three and a half months living in Asgard, he groaned softly to himself, and I still have so much to learn.

"Kol'la? Kol'la? Kol- Kol'la!"

It was Thor. As usual, too late.

"Thor," Kol'la rasped around a growing bruise which was swelling up the left corners of his lips in, he was certain, an unattractive fashion.  
"Kol'la? What happened? Who did this?"  
"It was – it was nothing-"  
"Nothing! You are – you are bruised from head to foot! And bleeding! Your head is bleeding!"  
"I am... fine..." Kol'la gritted out, forcing himself to his hands and knees before finding the wall and dragging himself upward to his feet. Thor helped and for a moment, Kol'la wished to bat his hands away, but realizing that he felt a bit too dizzy for his liking, Kol'la allowed himself to lean into his friend's hands. "I just – ran into someone who took offence..."  
"He challenged you to a duel?"  
"Hmmm... yes. I had no idea you Asgardians were so honour crazed as to-"  
"He challenged you to a duel for running into him?" Thor looked puzzled and then anger clouded his features as his other hand began to pat down Kol'la.  
"What – Thor – get your hands off – what are you about, you idiot-"  
"Your purse was taken – that was no duel, Kol'la-"  
"Well... it certain did not end well for me-"  
"Why did you not fight?"  
"I did!" Kol'la said, now getting more annoyed by the minute as his memory returned. "And I was winning too – but then everything went black... perhaps one of his friends hit me on the head?"  
"No doubt. The scoundrels. We shall comb the city for him tomorrow," Thor said grimly. "We shall find him – and make him pay double."  
"That," Kol'la chuckled shortly then and then gasped as a broken rib jiggled a little too painfully. "Ah-" He coughed wetly. "I would – I would like that."  
"We must get you to Healer Theyla."  
"She is going to kill me this time," Kol'la sighed. "She said if I came to her again this month, she would put me out of my misery."  
"You do seem to get into a lot of scrapes, Kol'la. You should be more careful," Thor shook his head. "But then, you are a bit of a risk taker."  
"Hm. Well, this was one bit of risk taking I could have gone without."  
"I am sure Theyla will understand."  
"You really think so?" asked Kol'la hopefully.  
"No," Thor admitted with a grin.

At Kol'la's ensuing groan, he laughed. They both laughed.

**\- The Archives -**

Kol'la found his second home in Asgard when he finally located the local public Archives. Healer Theyla had written down the directions for him, and after four failed attempts, during the fifth week of his stay in Asgard on his fourth day off, Kol'la finally managed to reach the proper building. It was an unassuming grey stone, many storied building which glimmered with the usual white stone edging and metallic filigree that embellished most of Asgard, allowing it to gleam under the sun as if it had been lit on fire.

Upon entering, Kol'la relaxed immediately in the cool dimness – but, once again, he came to a stunned halt at the size of the open room which lay before him. Above, the ceiling opened to a second room and then a third above that, all of them open up the centre, allowing for a light dim airiness – with partially translucent windows which, opening far above, let in soft sunlight and a light breeze.

And before him – before him – Kol'la did not know where to look. Stepping forward, feet a little slower than normal, the stable hand passed the first set of shelves, head swivelling this way and that, green eyes wide and round as he took in the tall, dark shelves of brown, black, white, blue, red, mustard yellow and deep green books. Fat, thin, tall, short – they lined the room and the shelves which stood in the middle of the room in three columns. How many rows there were, he did not know – but it felt endless to his eye.

The Gothahus's library of which Elska had been so proud rose in his mind's eye – and Kol'la could not help but compare what he saw before him with what he had considered so precious before. _If the Gothahus's library had been paradise, this was Valhalla._ Kol'la was sure of it.

 _I have died and gone to Valhalla. If Valhalla has books_ , he amended. _And I am sure that I could find that out if I researched it here..._ He wanted to laugh, he wanted to shout, he wanted to dance and – _behave like a fool?_ He told himself darkly. _Behave like an untaught savage?_ Kol'la looked about at the quiet readers and the hushed whispering that was going on between an Archivist and a reader. _Try to at least_ _pretend_ _like you belong here._

Still, another part of him was so excited, Kol'la found it difficult not to just grab any book and clutch it close. Wandering down one row and then up another, Kol'la walked content to just read the titles and let his fingers ghost over the edges of the tomes with reverence.

"Excuse me," a soft voice broke the silence of the quiet place, startling Kol'la. "Is there anything I can help you with?"  
"Um..." Kol'la stared at the serious-looking woman before him.  
"What are you looking for?"  
"A book," Kol'la finally managed to say – a little incoherently. "I want to read a book. On magic. Asgardian magicks. And workings." He managed to finally add. "If – if I can."  
"Well," she smiled then, gracefully waving a hand and beckoning him to follow, "you have come to the right place." A pause. "This is your first time?"  
"Yes. I hope I can come here often. If I may."

The Archivist laughed lightly then and paused before a shelf, "We look forward to seeing you. Here you go."

With that she was gone, but Kol'la did not even notice her leaving. Rather soon, the Archivists came to know him by name for the Archives became Kol'la's second home. The home where his heart would always lie.

**\- The Women of Asgard -**

Living as he had, first among the prosaic race of the Jotunn and then among the free-living beings who crowded the planets beyond the Nine Realms, Kol'la came to understand that the concept of gender and what to expect thereof was always never a certain thing. Therefore, when it became obvious to him that the women of Asgard would always find him a little... lacking compared to the more muscular, fighting-oriented, husky warriors of Asgard, Kol'la was philosophical. This was not the first time he had been passed over because he had not been attractive. _If one is not too short_ , he mused, _one is too thin or one does not have a tail or breasts or coloured skin... Still..._

Much later on, when he felt more settled in his new home, Kol'la began to feel the first pangs of unease as he realized that somehow, deep down, he felt a little lonely, Watching Thor stumble upstairs with two giggling wenches to a small room above the pub did not make it any easier. As a result, the following week, Thor found himself inexplicably the target of three of Kol'la more vicious pranks (one involving a horse which nearly broke Thor's leg).

"You need to find other things to keep you busy," Thor grumbled two days after, nursing three large pints of mead. "Something besides those books of yours. A woman. You need a woman."

 _Of course, Thor has no idea how right he is_ , Kol'la thought miserably watching one of the curvy waitresses bustle about, laughing at the customers and winking at a few others. _And yet, somehow, the dou'ma is... once again, correct. This is ridiculous, Kol'la_ , he told himself, _pining over the fact you cannot have a quick tumble in the hay with some moronic wench who cannot read._

 _Still_ , another part of him pointed out, _it would be fun_.

"They do not seem to be interested," Kol'la finally said with a shrug. "And I am not-"  
"Ah! That is no problem for one such as you," Thor laughed heartily. "Take them in your strong arms and have your way with them – they will come easily enough."  
"Ah... there are a few problems with your suggestion, Thor," Kol'la groaned wearily, wondering why he put up with the regular idiocy of his friend. "First, I am not the Prince of the land. Women can say no to me. Secondly, how is strong-arming a woman the proper way to enjoy something – something-" At that, Kol'la felt a little ill remembering how the occasional customer at Poison Paradise would paw at him in invitation. How that last customer had pulled the young waiter onto his lap – how those strong arms would not let go – how he, Kol'la had responded... Kol'la felt ill. "No, Thor," he finally said. "That is not my way."

Yet, as with all things, there is some kind of silver lining to the clouds that loom overhead and after each snow storm, as Elska said, the stars still shine bright. One evening, a new waitress paused by Thor's table and instead of eyeing the tall Prince, she smiled at Kol'la shyly and served him first. Kol'la somehow remembered to return the favour with extra coin, trying to maintain some sense of decorum while Thor nudged him repeatedly in the ribs. Before he left that night, Kol'la made certain to say farewell to her as well as hunt down the good pub-master Halva who had no doubt hired the young lady in question. All he learned was that she was the daughter of an Asgardian farmer from the South and that her dark-hair came from her Vanir mother. That and her name was Mildra.

The next week, Kol'la returned alone, sat to the side and when Mildra made a point of coming over, he felt more prepared to speak with her on small matters, beginning with the weather, the newest sales at market and her hometown. She was called away, but before she left she asked for his name and smiled, repeating it softly. Never did 'Kol'la' sound so treasured. Despite the business of that evening, Mildra made a point of serving Kol'la specifically and he was able to bring even more delight by complimenting her hair, recalling a few wonderful things about Vanaheim and asking if she was fond of pear cordial.

"One of these days, when you have free time," he suggested, "we should sneak away and wile the hours under the shade of the broad trees in the fields behind the Royal Stables. There we could sit quite happily in peace and if we bring our lunches, we could make a grand meal there."  
"That sounds lovely," Mildra breathed, eyes shining. "You bring the pear cordial; I will prepare the lunch."  
"My pleasure," Kol'la rose then, green eyes aflame and he raised her hand and kissed it carefully. "We shall set a date soon."

They did, and Kol'la discovered anew that Asgard had many treasures in its keeping – it only took a patient man, a willing man, to find them.

**\- Food (Finally Something!) -**

It was on one of Thor's short quests (which involved a trip into the nearby mountains) that Kol'la discovered his favourite Asgardian dish. Not so much a dish as a dessert – a sweet, cool, green pudding with just a hint of a minty flavour.

"What is this stuff?" Kol'la said around his fourth mouthful as he inhaled his serving.

He eyed the large brown woven basket Thor had carried on the back of his horse earlier that day. _Perhaps there was more inside..._ He thought and then added aloud, "Even more importantly – where did it come from?"  
"Mother sent it," Thor said, wrinkling his nose at his own share and then set it down – only to discover a few seconds later that it had mysteriously and magically disappeared. "I am not very fond of it, but she insisted. She even put some cooling charms on it because it is better chilled. Otherwise, it becomes more like a green soup. Ugh."  
"It is marvellous, Thor," Kol'la said as he finished his own seemingly small bowl. "Marvellous." He held up Thor's serving and began to spoon out some more.  
"It is fine tasting, I suppose," Fandral shrugged, trying his own share.  
"Meat is always better," Volstagg agreed.  
"I am glad you like it," Thor smiled at Kol'la. "Someone has to eat it."  
"Here, have mine," Sif said, pushing hers over as well.  
"I like it too!" Volstagg protested. "Why not give it to me?"  
"You like everything," Sif replied tartly. "A horrid lack of judgement on your part, I think – but Kol'la rarely enjoys anything here, so it is good to see him enjoying something, finally."  
"I like things here," Kol'la bristled. "Just not everything."  
"Hm. Well, we have heard a lot of complaining recently on your part," Fandral smirked.  
"True," Hogun nodded. "I think the joys of coming to Asgard wear thin as reality sets in."  
"At any rate," Sif shook her head, moving her bowl further away from Volstagg. "Kol'la needs it more than you. He looks as though he will blow away with the wind right off the mountain."  
"Now, Sif, that is an exaggeration," Thor laughed good-naturedly. "Be careful! Or Kol'la will summon his own wind and blow you right off the mountain."

Kol'la ignored the lot and focused on the mint pudding. He did not know why Frigga had sent the pudding along with such a bunch of ingrates, but he was grateful. _One day_ , the stable hand thought, _I will meet her – and I must be sure to thank her._ Kol'la wondered if Frigga would send the pudding again.

The next time they went on a short quest (this time to the seaside further to the east), Thor had extra helpings of mint pudding for Kol'la.

 _Yes_ , Kol'la thought enjoying the explosion of cool bursting over his tongue. _This is the best._

**\- Lightning -**

BAM! BOOM! CRASH! Lightning and thunder tore through the sky, lighting up the night as if it was almost day. Staring out of the cave they were staying in, eyes wide, Kol'la watched as the white forked lightning ripped through the night, striking down from the heavily clouded sky. The stars, he knew, were shining somewhere above them – but tonight, there was no sign of the surrounding nebulae, the moons or stars as the rain clouds covered the entirety of the city and the ocean beyond.

Thor summoned lightning. This Kol'la knew, knew from the stories of the power of Mjolnir which had once upon a time been wielded by the ancestors of Odin – and now by Asgard's Crown Prince. Although he had as yet to see Thor in action with Mjolnir, Kol'la knew that it would be a terrible sight if it was anything like this.

"Kol'la, ah – there you are... it is indeed a great storm tonight – and Mjolnir sings with it." Thor, catching sight of Kol'la's face in another flare of lightning, followed by the familiar hard CRACK!, stopped and said with a laugh, "You are not scared, are you?"  
"No – no-" Kol'la stopped and then glanced at Thor. "I have not seen such a thing before. I had heard of it – read of it – but I had never seen such a thing with my own two eyes before..."  
"Ah... well, when I was young – very young, mind you, lightning storms were rather... frightening for me. I always climbed into Mother's bed, you know," Thor laughed then again and shook his head. "I thought they were the voices of the Norns."  
"You heard them speak to you?"  
"Not really," Thor raised an eyebrow at Kol'la. "Do they say something to you?"

The wind had whipped up, lashing the clouds into a frenzy of black, bringing the storm closer. It sang of battles and ancient wars and the blaze of magick that breathed Asgard into life. It sang of life and death and the cycles of time. It sang...

_**...this is...** _

_**...this is the power of Asgard...** _

_**...we who are the Realms...** _

_**...who are the force of Life...** _

_**...we dance...** _

_**...come, little brother...** _

_**...come and dance...** _

"They say many things," Kol'la said. "Many things – of love and life and war and peace and magick... and I wonder what Mjolnir speaks when he goes to battle."  
"You will find out one day, that I promise you," Thor grinned.  
"No doubt," Kol'la snorted then. "You do love to battle."  
"There is no harm in it," Thor protested. "Not when it is for the glory of our people and to protect the ones we love."  
Kol'la did not answer for a moment and then said, "I do not think you speak the same language as Mjolnir, but one day," he mused, "you will." He glanced at Thor and smiled – a swift smile which passed quickly. "One day, you will."

And then it began to rain – another thing that Kol'la had never seen and reaching out a hand, he let the wet bathe his hand. Surprisingly, it wasn't as freezing cold as he thought it would be. Kol'la laughed a little then, tilting his head back, his white teeth flashing in the dark. Lightning lit up the sky and Thor joined with Kol'la, his great laughter booming like the thunder.

They said nothing more to each other and watched for another half hour until the two fell into a light slumber as was their wont during a journey or quest. When they rose in the morning, the rain fell still, until late morning, when the clouds rolled away and the sun's rays fell blazing through the fine mist of the morning, flaring up in lines of vivid colour.

Kol'la's first rainbow marked a glorious day. The day he returned home to the stables. The day he returned _home_ to the stables. For it was his home.

**[...the seedling struggles upward...]**

**[...to find the rays of the sun...]**

**[...and breaking into the blue sky...]**

**[...it unfurls and blossoms...]**

**[...and dies to live again...]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think~ Be sure to review the original story "Distortions In Time" if you wanna get the early preview for the third side-story!  
> Thanks a ton!  
> Hope you enjoyed!-KI
> 
> Alien Glossary:
> 
> 'auzha – fucker  
> Dou'ma – idiot  
> r'senk'ne – a kind of deer/cow hybrid  
> n'ch'nka – a kind of cow  
> chi'iano – a radioactive piece of rock similar to uranium  
> cho'ai - lover  
> kol-sava'atha – a titanium-rich ore  
> Morning-star - a mace.  
> oma'auzha – mother-effer  
> oto'oa - big sister  
> udji'oo – a drug, like opium
> 
> Asgardian Glossary:
> 
> bikkja – bitch  
> Brenna-Fir – the Immolation  
> ergi - womanly, weak, "gay"  
> Fiendfyre – a phoenix-firebird  
> Flauguna – flying feet/teleportation  
> Ginnung – the Void  
> Hiti-mothr – Flame Fury (also known as Lachruth)  
> Kaesia-Seithr – Spirit-Spear style  
> Koma a Aldr – Coming of Age  
> Kveykva-herklaethi – Light Armoured style  
> Laegja – the Immersion  
> Ofolr Leith – Dark Paths, Other Ways (crossing the Void)  
> Ominni-tith - the Forgotten Times  
> Rikr-Hringraevi – Grand Cycles of Time  
> Runa a Fyrsta – Rites of Initiation  
> Runa a Kelda – Rites of Spring  
> Runa'a'vetr – Winter Solstice  
> Saga-Vefr – Story-weavers  
> seithr - magic  
> seithrmaster - mage, sorceror  
> Skjald-borhyrr – Wall of Flame  
> Skipa – the Infusion  
> Skokkr-a-Mir – concealment skills, Box of Mirrors (also known as Col'ca-cenedril)  
> stormerki – mysteria  
> Tveir-Andlit – illusionary skills, Double Face  
> Velspara-Speki – the Well (of Wisdom)
> 
> Elvish Glossary:
> 
> skreyppa – slippery one  
> gargani – snake  
> fintalenir – trickster  
> vanwa – defeated one, impolite term for "loser"  
> caitahto – liar  
> curunar – fiery one  
> Lachruth – Flame Fury  
> Col'ca-cenedril – Box of Mirrors  
> Cebir-Gondlug – Spike-Stone Dragon


	3. A Day With Elska

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the untold tales of my epic tale (as yet unfinished), Distortions In Time. To understand these stories in FULL, you may want to start there. Still, they may be enjoyable as standalones and I hope you like them. As thanks for reviewing, this story was sent to reviewers who reviewed chapter 48-58. If you wish to be one of the number who gets the side story ahead of time, review on Distortions In Time when I make an announcement about writing a side story~
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers. Marvel owns it. I do not get paid for this piece of work. Sadly, but understandably. LOL.
> 
> [IMPORTANT!]
> 
> Author's Note: This tale fits in around the time that Loki was known as the Vaetki and was living in the Gothahus as a very young child. I really wanted to write this story to show the everyday life and habits of Elska and the Vaetki - as well as show a window into the good times that little Loki experience before he was taken away by the wolves.
> 
> Characters: Elska and the Vaetki
> 
> Enjoy~!

Distortions In Time: The Untold Tales

Side Story 3:  
A Day With Elska

Rising thin and mournful, the wolf's howl drifted on the empty winds of Jotunheim. A call of freedom and danger and the silent wastelands of the Utanheim, it echoed about Utgard, bringing with it the warning of doom which ever loomed over the broken city. The doom of Jotunheim.

**[...lingers on the breezes...]**

**[...the voice of Heimsrsal calls...]**

**[...she calls...]**

**[...your name...]**

**[...the One Who Was Chosen...]**

Red eyes fluttered open, blearily taking in the vision of grey, white and black fur which had bunched up around the vaetki's head. For a moment, it lay there, curled up and shivering. Not from the cold - although, judging by how hard the smithy's jarnvithr's shutter across the way clattered in the stiff wind, the weather today would be particularly harsh - no, not the cold. The remnants of a shadowy dream clung to its memory, whispering half-understood, half-spoken words of dark promise. So it lay there and waited for the grey and black stone walls, the soft, white-tipped fur and the edge of its little shelf to come into focus. It lay there and it listened.

The wolves' cries did not comfort it, for wolves haunted its dreams as well, at times, brought there by the hissed threats rained down on its head every now and then from some irate visitor to the Gothahus.

"One of these days," they spat, "you will find yourself at the tender mercies of the wolves."

There were other promises. It had learned them by heart - _the Void, the wolves, the sword_ \- and fear was like an old friend, haunting its every move. Hunching further into its fur blankets, the vaetki huddled, trying to push away the memories of Utgard's residents' threats, trying to forget it all - _the Void, the wolves, the sword_ \- and think of cheerier things as Elska had taught it.

Books, it liked. They were silent and offered it nothing but comfort. Comfort and knowledge - and with knowledge, Elska had promised, came power. Elska, it liked as well. Elska, who was tall as a tree and rough as the land and gruff as an annoyed jarnkottr and strict as a fish-wife and hard as a mountain.

 _Books_ , it counted mentally in his head, shoring up the good things Elska had taught it to remember. _Elska. Fishing. Writing. Snow. Starlight. The alphabet. Magick. Hunting. My blanket..._ It paused and frowned in thought and then brightened. _Eel soup._ That was good as well - if eels were to be had. _Will there be eel soup today?_

At that thought, the vaetki's dark head popped up inquisitively from underneath its fur blanket and glanced over to the other corner of the room, where Elska lay in his bed of soft snow, which was kept within its confines by the strong sides of jarnvithr wood and slatted carefully about the pile of snow which the Jotunn had come to enjoy sleeping in. For a moment, the vaetki's small, bright, red eyes fixed on Elska's shadowed face, which, now relaxed, looked just a little more happier than usual.

Quiet as a snjarharr, the vaetki crept out from under its blanket, wincing a little at the cold and reached for its shift and little wolf cloak which Elska had attempted to make for it.

"This is impossible," the old Jotunn had growled at one point, tossing the needle and rough twine away, but after a few hours, he had returned with determination to the project and had managed to fashion a square made from the back fur of two younger wolves which he had hunted a few weeks earlier. "This season promises to be a bitter one, lagreinn," Elska had sighed, fitting the rough garment over the rough shift beneath. "Ai! But you will grow out of this too quickly, I think."

The vaetki had said nothing, red eyes wide as its tiny blue-black nails brushed gently over the soft fur.

"Putting fur on the inside is a good idea," Elska had shaken his head, "but may be beyond my abilities."

It didn't matter to the vaetki. In its eyes, the little wolf cloak was perfect, crooked mid-seams and all. Elska had had a rather big fight taking the cloak off the vaetki before bed, for the small runt had wanted to go to sleep in it.

"Night clothes are for night," Elska had jerked the cloak and shift off the vaetki's head and replaced them with another softer jerkin. "Ai! Stop moving so!" It was rather difficult to get the vaetki's arms into the night clothes what with all the squirming going on.  
"Wuff! Wuff!" The vaetki had somehow inched upward out of Elska's large hands and was now leaning dangerously forward, arms waving as it attempted to reach the cloak.  
"Wolf," corrected Elska with a sigh. "Wolf. Try to say it properly."

Grumbling, the older Jotun gave up after a few moments and allowed the vaetki to snuggle with the cloak under the soft covers of his bed. Now it was morning, a week after the epic creation of the wolf's cloak, and the vaetki, pulling its day-time canvas shift and cloak over looked at the garments carefully. Usually Elska helped it... but surely it could get them on itself?

It poked its head into the first piece of clothing it usually put on - a coarse, dark brown shift made of roughly woven canvas. Being Elska's first attempt at sewing, the edges were barely hemmed, thick threads poking up at odd angles around the ill-fitting arm and neck holes. Inching into it like a worm, the vaetki pushed its hands, arms and then head and torso. A moments struggle ensued as it realized that as it burrowed into the garment, the shift only pushed further down the bed. The vaetki pulled back, cocked its head and gazed thoughtfully at the clothes.

There was a trick to this. Obviously.

Ah! It realized suddenly that Elska had always made sure it was standing before putting on the shift. During those times, it would raise its scrawny arms in the air... Eyeing the shift, the vaetki stepped off its bed, pulled the shift to the edge and then, slipping its arms and head in raised itself back to standing position and wriggled, it thought, _like a lively eel before Elska skewers them_. (It had wept the first time he had realized what happened to the eels Elska brought home live from the market. "That is what you get for naming things," Elska had chided the little one brusquely, discomfited by the bright tears glistening on black eyelashes. After that, the vaetki had not shed any tears over eel soup.)

After a few moments of breathless struggle and blindness, arms and head popped out of their respective holes and, riding on the tide of success, the vaetki pulled the wolf cloak off the bed. This was easier – putting skinny blue arms into the voluminous sleeves (one sleeve was longer than the other), the vaetki pulled the wolf cloak up awkwardly over its boney shoulders.

 _It is too big for you_ , Elska had grumbled, dissatisfied by his work, _but you'll grow into, I suppose_. A tie which dangled loosely went about its waist several times, but the knot didn't look as neat and tidy as Elska's usually did. The vaetki poked at the now very tangled mass of string at its waist. It did not budge. _Good enough_ , the youngling thought, shuffling on a pair of slipper-like shoes, the vaetki looked over at Elska again. _Still sleeping._

Hefting up its 'bucket', a small-sized pot by Jotunn standards, the tiny Jotun snuck out. Time to start the morning routine – and if it was lucky – it would be done before Elska awoke. _A surprise_ , it thought gleefully, making its way past the many tall doors which lined the hallway leading to the first atrium and then the back foyer.

Finding its way to the large garden housed within the high walls of the Gothahus's back quarters, the vaetki pushed hard on the small flap door set in the bottom of the large iron and jarnvithr gate. _Long ago_ , Elska had said, _jarnkottr kits and other smaller animals had lived within the temple's walls, raised by the ancient mages for work_. Even had it grown to the full height of a Jotunn youngling, the vaetki wouldn't have been able to go and come as it pleased were it not for the tiny entrance such was the grandness and weight of the back door. Leaving the relative shelter of the grand back porch, the vaetki made its way to the edge of the back gardens.

Rather wild and gone to seed, the Gothahus gardens were more like a wasteland wilderness, and, while the plants grew as best as they may on such exhausted soil, it was too gargantuan a task for Elska alone. Thus, the further reaches of the lot were a brambly thicket hanging with blossoms and the odd fruit or vegetable now caught in thickets of thorny weeds. Closer to the back door, the garden spread outward in neat rows, and here, in the currently fallow ground, deep in the ploughed grooves of the heavy soil, the vaetki was able to find more than enough freshly fallen snow to fill its bucket.

It felt like a long way returning back to their small quarters, but the vaetki persevered – pushing and pulling the large heavy pot by turns across the icy stone floor of the Gothahus. Once the snow was finally poured into the greater pot set by the hearth, the vaetki disappeared once again to fetch another 'bucketful'. After the fourth trip, the pot was definitely more full – ready to be melted over the fire for Elska's regular morning brew.

Lighting the fire as Elska often did was beyond the vaetki's capabilities, but it had other means – and with natural ease, it lit the rough pieces of wood laid there the night before. Magickal green flames sprang eagerly from its slender hands. Watching the fire take on a more natural hue of yellow, orange, red and blue-green as it settled into the wood, the vaetki nodded contentedly to itself.

Now for the hard part. At the sight of the too heavy pot by the hearth, the vaetki's heart sank. Then, biting its lip with determination, the youngling went around to the other side of the pot and began to push. Sssscrrriitch, sssscccritch. The metal crunched loudly as the pot shifted slowly over the rough stone of the hearth. Without warning, the vaetki tumbled forward as the pot shifted suddenly over and upward. Letting out a startled squeak, it scrambled to its feet, looking up – to find Elska (usual morning grimace on his face) picking up the pot without a word. For a moment, nothing was said as Elska added wood to the fire, set the pot down upon the hungry flames, poured into the rapidly melting snow his syrupy concoction which would create the base for their morning porridge.

When Elska raised his head to glance about the room, the old Jotun grunted and nodded; the vaetki's heart swelled with pride at the unspoken praise and thanks. Making sure to keep quiet, the youngling got out Elska's large bowl and its own much smaller sized one – along with their matching ladle-spoons. Elska's brewed tea was merrily bubbling by the time Elska was finished reheating the previous nights food for their frugal breakfast.

After his first draught of black-thorn tea, Elska heaved a sigh as he glanced out the window to gauge the time.

"Ahh, little one," he grumbled, "it is so late already! How I must have slept. And – ai! - you tried to get dressed by yourself, I see. Well," here, he trailed off at the lagreinn's worried face as the much smaller and lighter blue fingers poked at the tangle of knots at its waist, "you did not do so badly for the first time. You shall have to learn how to tie a proper knot, hm. Now," Elska said after he poured out the soupy porridge. "What do you say?"

With a sigh, the little one sat up straight, laid its right hand on its chest and chanted carefully with the barest of lisps, "Blesth th' Fo'-El'ra!" A pause and the little brow wrinkled momentarily in thought as the young one tried to remember the prayer of thanks Elska had taught it. "An'... an'... blesth Elsthka!"

"And may we have a bounty in the market today," added Elska with a nod. "Although..." He continued on in his rough rumble, "what with the winter season weather being what it has been lately, I doubt the pickings will be anything to look forward to..."

For a moment, the small room was filled with the hearty sound of Elska and the vaetki slurping, their ladles clattering and the scrape of the ladle against the bowl's edge. Its face now eclipsed by the bowl in its small hands, the vaetki began to lick the edges and inside with the usual voracious hunger it showed. Watching the youngling with a heavy heart, Elska muttered to himself about needing to get more supplies. At that thought, the elder glanced out the window and gave a sharp cry of dismay at the sight of the now much lighter sky.

"Ah – and the time slips away so!"

With that exclamation, the aged caretaker gathered up his walking staff, his satchel, his empty pack and his leather purse, which he stowed away in the satchel carefully. Slipping on a pair of worn leather and jarnvithr sandals, he cast a glance about the room, his gaze landing on the lagreinn still sitting on the edge of the hearth stone, red eyes wide as it clutched the small, badly carved jarnvithr bowl, now licked clean, close to its furred chest.

"Get your chores done," Elska said gruffly, nodded and shuffled out the room.

With the last clatter of the outer gate falling shut, the Gothahus fell into silence. It was unnerving how quiet it was without Elska about – and the ancient Giant wasn't even the most talkative Jotunn in Utgard.

No sooner had the heavy footfalls of Elska's slow gait had faded into the distance, the vaetki sprang into action, grabbing the leftover bucket of lukewarm melted snow which Elska had set aside. That done, it began the usual morning routine for the winter season. It slipped the dirty breakfast dishes and ladles and mugs in the lukewarm water for soaking, made its bed carefully, folded its night clothes neatly, decided to forget to take out the slimy tuber rinds piled in the corner by Elska, patted down the snow in Elska's bed, added fresh snow, swept the room, returned to scrub the dishes with a rag and let them soak again, swept down the hallway and around the second foyer quickly, scraped the ice off the front and back steps, cleared the newly fallen snow off the most important plants in Elska's garden, returned to the room again to take the dishes one by one out of the pot and quickly dry them with a rough cloth before they froze in the air.

That was the most difficult thing for the vaetki for it knew how particular Elska could get some days and with the winter season in full swing, the air froze water too quickly for comfort. Sometimes, even wearing its wolf cloak was not enough to protect the vulnerable lagreinn for the air within its very lungs threatened to freeze. On those days, Elska raised the fire and laid the little one hot coals.

It knew. It knew without having to hear the hurtful words from the Others. _Without Elska_ , it thought, _it would have disappeared long ago_.

So, the vaetki did its best to relieve Elska's burden and bring a smile to the somber Jotun's face. That meant wiping the dishes to perfection – even if it was difficult thanks to the sheer size of some of Elska's plates and bowls. Yet, the vaetki got it done, as usual, and moved onto the next task which was dusting off the bookshelves. The archives, despite their protection deep within the recesses of the temple, always got a fine coat of soft snow when the storms raged and blanketed the entire world in whiteness.

 _It gets everywhere_ , the lagreinn thought, carefully wiping off the lower shelves that it could reach with the small ladder Elska had cobbled together for it.

That was when the youngling heard the slow steps of Elska returning, the creak of the outer gate, then the inner gate and then the crunch of sandals on ice and stone passing by to their shared quarters. Cocking its ear, the vaetki frowned. Elska was quiet and his tread was heavy. The young one's heart sank. _Market did not go well...?_

Swiftly finishing up the dusting, the lagreinn put away its rags and ladder before slipping through the dim morning light back to the room both they shared. He found Elska moodily looking into the fire and sipping his favourite black brew thoughtfully, a half full pack beside him.

"So you made your bed?" Elska's gaze did not move from the small fire and the vaetki nodded and then said aloud:  
"Yesth, Elska."  
"Yes."  
"Ye-yes, Elska."  
"Hm. And you folded your night clothes?"  
"Y-yes, Elsth – Elska."  
"And swept the room?" Elska peered about. "What about those rinds in the corner? I see you did not take them out as I asked last night."

The vaetki's eyes widened innocently, it glanced up at Elska, hands behind its back.

"I – I forgot," it whispered.  
"Hm. Really..." Elska sighed, "well... it has been that kind of day... Clean it up, little one... and don't forget next time."  
"Yes, Elska," whispered the vaetki with relief and grudging acceptance.

With great reluctance, the young Jotunn gathered the rinds up in its thin arms and off it darted, anxious to get rid of the hateful slimy things as soon as possible. The first time the vaetki had been told to take the rinds to the perpetually heated compost pile, it had lied and swept the vegetable remains under its bed where they had rotted unpleasantly after two weeks – all mouldy and moist thanks to the nearby heat of the fire – until Elska, following the scent of decay, discovered what the lagreinn had been up to. That night had gotten a severe scolding and had been roundly smacked on its bottom five times.

This time, however, care weighed heavily on Elska and when the vaetki returned to their quarters, it found Elska sitting silently before the fire, moodily staring into the yellow-orange flames. Fire embers shifted and a crackle and pop broke the silence as the brown-black logs fell in a small shower of yellow-gold sparks. Sitting down on the edge of the hearth, the vaetki stared at its knobby knees which poked out from between the loose flaps of its tunic and cloak. Running its hands along the coarse fur and brushing it down smoothly over the softer under-fur, it waited patiently until Elska's deep voice broke the silence.

"We will go hunting." Elska sounded resigned, yet determined. "We will go hunting today."

-0-0-0-

The Lake of Vollrvatn, lying on the edges of the Holkn Vollr, feeds into the infamous Holdra River so named for its auspicious beginnings – formed from the mighty battle of two Jotunn warriors, who, as the tales say, battled for the hand of a maiden and in doing so carved the mighty river which flowed relentlessly across the wide flat plain.

Holkn Vollr, despite the fact it was mainly flat land, is a mysterious place, for, throughout most of the year, it remains shrouded in thick mists, dense fogs and dangerous storms which ravaged the wasteland during the long winter season. There, the stories tell, lie the mysterious ruins of Meerauk, the location of which remains a secret for only those in the highest echelons of power – the King and the Mages. There, the ghosts of the Ancient Winters wander. There, was Jotunheim born.

Yet, to the north of the Holkn Vollr, around the edges of the permanently iced over Lake of Vollrvatn, the Jotunn of Utgard come.

They come to hunt, to farm and to forage. They come to search for the sparse tunglblom which grows in the shelter of the small groves huddled around the southern reaches of the Grarfjall Mountains. They come to till the hard soil of that flat land and there grow a hardy variant of barley more often used in hard breads and rough meal. They come to fish, cutting round holes through the thick ice and raising small shacks of jarnvithr, for eel and other sea creatures which teem in the darkness below.

Elska, when he had been but a youngling, had been brought to the wide shores of Vollrvatn to fish, at the side of his strong and many-wintered fylgja. _As your forefathers have done before_ , Elska's fylgja said, _so shall you_. Had his own child lived, Elska would have brought him to learn in the tradition of his family, but Haffa and little Smarmurtr were gone and Elska had a second chance of a sort.

 _Of a sort_.

After half an hour of preparation, packing the lagreinn's little rucksack with fish and nuts and berries and its favourite flat cotton pillow and Elska's larger one with fishing rods and tackle and bait and extra line and tinder, the two left the Gothahus. Looking back from its perch on Elska's shoulder, the lagreinn watched the tall, sky-scraping, silent building, now locked up and shuttered against the wind and any undesired trespassers. At Elska's belt, the great keys to the temple hung with the small scabbards for his hunting knives.

In one hand, the caretaker held a stout jarnvithr and iron wrought staff which could also turn into a massive, if clumsy cudgel; the other hand held the large rucksack over his broad left shoulder. Seated securely on Elska's right shoulder, slender arm clinging to the back of Elska's neck, the vaetki swayed.

Thus readied, the two set out for Vollrvatn, crossing through the southern area of the city, which lay silent, forlorn and desolate. _This part of Utgard_ , Elska thought with a sigh, _may never find recovery. It will only get worse_. With that grim thought, he stamped his way out, carefully avoiding the uncertain arches of the crumbling walls and towers, avoided a widening gap in the snow which may or may not be an increasing crevice which could give way to the Void.

The two said nothing as Elska made his way past the ruined walls and down and away from the edges of the Eybjarg to veer eastward toward the roads which ran, buried in snow, out to the southern wastelands. Nothing was said – and Elska savoured the stillness, the rhythmic stamp of his feet upon the snow and ice and gravelled rock which here and there broke through the white. Above, the stars wheeled slowly, glimmering dimly against the comparatively brighter light of the white-blue cold suns. Nebulae and coloured clouds of gas hung within the sky's vista as though they were tattered veils or threadbare rugs.

To Elska, the far off worlds of the Realms and beyond held no lure. _Yet... and yet..._ He mused, _it is a fair world, I think, bright – perhaps superficially so – yet glorious all the same._

Compared to the grey mountains and the flat white, blue and grey plains which stretched below, it seemed fairer. Thus, Elska pondered and the lagreinn on his shoulder, red eyes wide, followed Elska's gaze upward and around as though the world had unfurled before its feet and there was nothing but the horizon.

**[...the horizon stretches unending...]**

**[...so the future is...]**

**[...so is destiny...]**

Elska, unlike the other usual fishers and farmers who travelled to the lake for longer periods of time and with more frequency, had no hut on hand, so, with the help of the eager vaetki, they built a snow dome together on the lake itself. It was the lagreinn's first time – and its smaller hands could not lift the knife to cut the blocks of hard snow out of the ground, nor could it lift them, yet it gave what aid it could and helpfully stuffed any of the cracks with snow and smoothed the lower regions of the dome which would be difficult for the stiff older Jotunn to bend and reach.

After successfully carving for themselves their temporary, new home, Elska (watched carefully by the ever attentive and curious lagreinn) cut a new hole a few paces away. Cutting the rounded square wide and deep, the better to delay the eventual freezing over, Elska hacked away with his pick and short saw until the two could see the black water lapping gently below.

The afternoon passed peacefully enough with Elska letting down and reeling in the variety of lines which he set about the edges of the fishing hole. The variety of fishing rods he had brought were now all neatly arrayed about, stuck firmly into the ice within easy reach. Beside his new seat of snow and ice, Elska had laid out in neat rows the tackle, the gear, the bait and the first harvests.

One eye he kept on the sensitive rods, the other eye was focused on the vaetki who squatted next to him, a baby eel grasped firmly in its own small grasp. With a low, encouraging voice, Elska, holding his own larger sized eel, showed the youngling how to cut, gut, skin and slice the eel so that the fat and tender meat would be best harvested from its boney frame.

Dark eyebrows wrinkled in deep concentration, eyes staring down the gimlet stare of the dead eelling. Its long black hair had been pushed back and pulled into an untidy heap of a tail behind – the better to see what was at hand before him. In the other hand, the lagreinn held the jack knife which Elska had given him, large enough to be a good long hunting knife. Clumsily the vaetki followed Elska's example, slitting the eelling down its belly and giving a cry of curiosity and horror and excitement as the innards spilled out. Clearing the refuse away as Elska had done, the lagreinn continued on, carefully removing the small head, brains, eyes and all, leaving only a decapitated line of black and deep green flesh.

That was when a rod began to jerk again and Elska was forced to leave the youngling alone. When he returned with a few silvrfiskr, he discovered that the lagreinn had been able to extract the spine – if not in one piece - and that, although the flesh was a bit more hacked than is should, it was at least still edible. Judging by the tell-tale slices, some of the eelling's flesh had no doubt already made its way to the lagreinn's belly.

After that, there was a short lesson on fish and things became rather messy as silver scales flew this way and that. The elder Jotun knew that a bath was definitely in order the following day, as his eyes traced the tell-tale flecks of scales now caught up in the lagreinn's tatted mane. _Well_ , he thought, _it is shows a strong spirit and a willingness to work. Much better to be messy with the work of one's hands than be neat with a spirit of laziness._

It gave Elska pause, made him wonder – that such a small thing should hold so much promise, should surprise him even now.

 _Just what I needed_ , Elska mused. _Just what Jotunheim needed._

His wandering thoughts were cut off as he realized that the runt in question had rushed over to one of the smaller fishing rods and was heaving on it with all of its puny strength in an attempt to pull the line in out of the water. The reel was too unwieldy for the vaetki to turn while holding the relatively larger fishing rod, but already the runtling was showing his usual inventiveness. Pulling back, step by step, it jerked on the rod, bringing the line up and over the lip of the ice as the lagreinn moved backward over the snow.

"Here," Elska said and made to take the rod only to draw back at the sound of a frustrated growl from the youngling. He sighed. "I mean only to wind the reel. You hold the rod, will that be satisfactory."

A quick nod.

Reaching down carefully, Elska found the rod's reel, unbuckled the catch and began to reel in the fish steadily. As the long grey body rose up over the lip, Elska caught his breath and laughed.

"A great catch, little one! Only a little further!"

Together they worked, drawing the fish safely away from its home, the cold black waters of Vollrvatn and further up onto the white ice and snow. When it was close enough, Elska caught the large body in its hands and shook his head, giving a surprised laugh of disbelief. A barafiskr, easily the size of the lagreinn itself, was a rare catch indeed for they swam in the lower portions of the lake and were only caught by those able to dive or rich enough to cast great nets.

"A barafiskr!" Elska glanced down at the vaetki who stood by his left side, red eyes wide and mouth open as it panted, chest heaving, now rather short on breath. "What a tale to tell the others! Ha! Oklo will not believe this! But this is fine indeed! Very fine indeed! A splendid catch for your first time. Such a blessing!"

The lagreinn's expression clouded over and it glanced down at the ground, its blue feet shuffling back and forward, hands now fiddling at the hastily tied belt still tangled up at his waist.

Elska knelt then, sensing something. "What is it, little one?" He held out the fish for the lagreinn to see, his other hand rising to cradle the dark head.

"I coulddin... could not... do it by myself..." was the mournful reply after a long moment.

Once again, Elska felt the urge to laugh, but this time the elderly Jotun stifled it.

"One day," he said, "when you are just that much taller, you will catch all manner of fish and eel and sea creatures on your own. The first time," Elska remembered his own first foray into fishing. "The first time I went fishing – I was a complete mess. I could not catch a thing to save a life. The one fish I caught slipped out of my hands and back into the water. You did very well, little one, do not fear. Your day will come."

A pause.

"Your day will come."

The lagreinn nodded slowly, eyeing Elska with muted anxiety and pride and excitement all mixed together in the solemn moment.

"Now, this one I will have to take care of. You retrieve all the rest of the lines," Elska glanced over their wealthy harvest of fish and eel piled up by the door of their snow hut. "We are done for the evening, I should think."

Quickly, the lagreinn did as it was told, allowing Elska to finish expertly skinning, cutting, descaling, gutting, and then, finally, packing all of the meat. That night, they had a merry little feast and during the following morning, the two fished a few hours more before packing up and clearing away the remains of the fish and eels – back into the dark waters – and leaving behind the hut and hole for another who would no doubt come along later on in the day to try his luck.

The walk back was just as quiet. Elska's trudging filled the late afternoon air and nothing was said as the two crossed the empty wasteland, their combined shadows stretching and contorting across the snow as the cold suns sunk behind the mountains and plains. Faraway, the cries of a grey wolf pack rose and fell, a distant rumble of snow echoed and the familiar cracking of ice and stone resounded toward them as the ever disintegrating walls and towers of the southern part of the city came into view.

"Almost there," Elska murmured.

But there was no reply, for the vaetki had fallen asleep propped up on Elska's pack, arms slung lightly about the elder's neck, swaying with the rhythm of the giant.

The city was falling silent as the evening drew onward and Elska made his way unhindered to the Gothahus, which he entered easily enough. Waking up slowly, the vaetki looked about muzzily scratching at its face as it sat up and stretched.

"Home!"  
"Yes," Elska grunted, "and we have a fair bit of things to accomplish before we may find rest this night. Fish to store, snow to dust off and our supper to make at the very least."

The tasks were accomplished easily enough – although even Elska found himself rather short of breath and unfortunately tired as the time passed on. Huddled over the bowl of fish soup he had made, Elska's chewing slowed down as fatigue washed over him.

He sighed. _I am not as young as I used to be_ , he reminded himself. _No creature lives forever – for a reason at any rate. At least we got the most important things done for today..._

"Read! Read! Read!"

Apparently the vaetki had gained some extra energy from somewhere. Filled with expectancy, its red eyes darted over to the large, crooked bookshelf which Elska and it used for their personal use.

"Ach!" Elska groaned and shook his head slowly. "I am sorry, little one... but... this evening, I find myself in need..." Another gusty sigh. "In need of rest. Perhaps you can practice the sounds by yourself this evening?"

The dark head nodded, eyes wide and worried, as the youngling realized that its elder did seem more tired and much older than usual. Without a word, it watched Elska prepare for sleep and allowed Elska to undress it without the usual struggle and play fighting.

Quiet as a snjarharr, the lagreinn made its way to the shelf and pulled out the book and dragged the heavy tome off to its bed. Nestled among the furs of its bed, the little one lisped the words out in a whisper.

That was the last thing Elska heard – the unusual, yet sweet lullaby of a child's tongue drifting through the still air of the Gothahus. Filtering out, he knew, the chinks of the shutters and drifting upwards to join the stars.

**[...this, the One Who Was Chosen...]**

**[...the One Given No Name...]**

**[...hears the call...]**

**[...the voice of Heimsrsal...]**

**[...it lingers on the breezes...]**

This is the doom of Jotunheim which ever looms over the broken city of Utgard, hard by the Eybjarg and the Abyss of Forever. It echoes about the citadel, brought on the winds of Jotunheim – the call of freedom and danger and silent wastelands.

**[...can you hear it?]**

Can you hear it? It is in the howl of the wolf as it drifts on the empty winds, thin and mournful – and foreboding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think~
> 
> Jotunheim Glossary
> 
> Aldinn Stathr – Ancient Place  
> Almror'ganga - Long Range Weapon Contest  
> Arlang'leith – the Annual Caravan  
> Atfirth – energies  
> ausa'songr fugl - flow-songbirds
> 
> Barafiskr – great bear fish  
> blakkrbjorr – black beer  
> Blakkrbjorn – black bear  
> blakkrgras – black grass  
> blargras – blue grass  
> blar'iss hros - black ice horse  
> Blaufe'irsteinn - blue fire stone  
> Brandr'ganga - Unarmed Combat
> 
> Dagaheim  
> Dauthr'ganga - Death Duel  
> dvegr – dwarf  
> dyrspeki – zoologist
> 
> Eybjarg (Chasms of Forever)
> 
> Faetha'snaer - "Mother", "who births the snow"  
> Farbjothr – the Destroyer  
> fauld – a part of armour around the lower midsection  
> Fjor'fylgja – Life Mate  
> Flara River – Treacherous River  
> fleygja-skip – flying/shooting ship  
> For-Eldra – Ancestors  
> Forn Vegr – Old Ways  
> Frothleikr'ganga - Battle of Magick  
> Fylgja'snaer - "Father", "who aids the snow"
> 
> Gastropnir  
> Glima'ganga - Battle of Swords  
> Gnaefki-Seggr – High Guard  
> Gnottvatn (Lake of Abundance)  
> Gothahus – temple  
> Grarfjall – Grey Mountains  
> grarulfr – grey wolves  
> Griotunagardar
> 
> hafnathr – sea serpents  
> heillgrjot – healing stones  
> Heimsrsal – Soul of the Realm  
> heithrsker – crystal flowers  
> hjarr'veithr - rabbit chaser (a kind of eagle)  
> Holdra River – Hero's River  
> holkimurtr – small flat fish  
> Holkn Vollr – Flat Plains  
> holmganga – a method of ending feuds/disagreements  
> hota-eik – white oak  
> hvaeta – wheat  
> hvitr'steinn - white fire stone
> 
> Innaheim – Inner Realm  
> iss'hona'by - ice honey bee
> 
> jarnkottr – iron cat (beast which Laufey released in Thor)  
> jarnvithr – iron wood
> 
> Kaldrfjall (Cold Mountains)  
> Kero Fornvetr – Casket of Ancient Winters  
> kostrboth – a method of proving virility for the purpose of marriage
> 
> lagreinn – small one (epithet)  
> lagr'hyggr – fool  
> Lengi Ofrithr – Long War  
> luthrblom – trumpet flower
> 
> manisilfr – moonsilver  
> Meir'brothir – Older Brother  
> melrakki – white fox  
> Myrkr Skogr – shadow forest
> 
> Nattura – spirits  
> Northri Stjarna – North Star
> 
> rjothr'auga haukr - red-eyed hawk
> 
> silvralmr – silver elm  
> silvrfiskr – silver fish  
> Sithr Efingi – True Heir  
> Skalldi  
> skordyr – Jotunheim goat  
> Smar'brothir – Younger Brother  
> snaerharra – snow rabbit  
> snjarlang'hvartha - snow camel  
> Storrholl – Great Hall
> 
> thurblakulfr – giant black wolves  
> tunglbom (moonflower)
> 
> Utanheim – Outer Realm  
> Utgard
> 
> vaetki – nothing  
> ventrmellin – winter melon  
> villrkyr – wild ox  
> Virtha Aevi – Coming of Age  
> Vit'ganga - Battle of Wits

**Author's Note:**

> Vocabulary:
> 
> Aldinn Stathr – Ancient Place  
> Atfirth – energies
> 
> blakkrbjorr – black beer  
> Blakkrbjorn – black bear  
> blakkrgras – black grass  
> blargras – blue grass
> 
> Dagaheim  
> dvegr – dwarf  
> dyrspeki – zoologist
> 
> Eybjarg (Chasms of Forever)
> 
> fauld – a part of armour around the lower midsection  
> Flara River – Treacherous River  
> For-Eldra – Ancestors  
> Forn Vegr – Old Ways
> 
> Gastropnir  
> Gnottvatn (Lake of Abundance)  
> Gothahus – temple  
> Grarfjall – Grey Mountains  
> grarulfr – grey wolves  
> Griotunagardar  
> groa-thurs – grown giant  
> groensteinn – a green gem
> 
> hafnathr – sea serpents  
> snaerharra – snow rabbit  
> heillgrjot – healing stones  
> Heimsrsal – Soul of the Realm  
> heithrsker – crystal flowers  
> Holdra River – Hero's River  
> holkimurtr – small flat fish  
> Holkn Vollr – Flat Plains  
> holmganga – a method of ending feuds/disagreements  
> hota-eik – white oak  
> hvaeta – wheat
> 
> Innaheim – Inner Realm
> 
> jarnkottr – iron cat (beast which Laufey released in Thor)  
> jarnvithr – iron wood
> 
> Kaldrfjall (Cold Mountains)  
> Kero Fornvetr – Casket of Ancient Winters  
> kostrboth – a method of proving virility for the purpose of marriage
> 
> lagreinn – small one (epithet)  
> Lengi Ofrithr – Long War  
> luthrblom – trumpet flower
> 
> manisilfr – moonsilver  
> melrakki – white fox  
> Myrkr Skogr – shadow forest
> 
> Nattura – spirits  
> Northri Stjarna – North Star
> 
> silvralmr – silver elm  
> silvrfiskr – silver fish  
> Sithr Efingi – True Heir  
> Skalldi  
> skordyr – Jotunheim goat  
> Storrholl – Great Hall
> 
> thurblakulfr – giant black wolves  
> tunglbom (moonflower)  
> Tveir-Tindr – Double Peak mountain.
> 
> ulfrbarn - wolf child  
> Utanheim – Outer Realm  
> Utgard
> 
> vaetki – nothing  
> ventrmellin – winter melon  
> villrkyr – wild ox  
> Virtha Aevi – Coming of Age  
> Vollrvatn – Lake of the Plains


End file.
